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CDFZRIGKT DEPOSIT. 



A BOOK of 
ONE-ACT PLAYS 




A BOOK OF 
ONE-ACT PLAYS 



Compiled by 
BARBARA LOUISE SCHAFER / 

Teacher of English in the 
Indianapolis Technical High School 



C3 



INDIANAPOLIS 

THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 



Copyright, 1922 
By The Bobbs-Merrill Company 



y 






Printed in the United States of America 



OCT 23 "22 

©CU686424 C/ 



ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

I am greatly indebted to the authors and pubHshers 
who have so generously permitted their plays to ap- 
pear in this collection. I desire to express special 
thanks to Professor T. E. Rankin of the Rhetoric De- 
partment of the University of Michigan, whose en- 
thusiasm first inspired me with interest for the one-act 
play ; to Principal M. H. Stuart of the Arsenal Tech- 
nical Schools for his kind interest in the work; and to 
Miss Mabel Goddard, Head of the English Department 
of the Arsenal Technical Schools, whose generous as- 
sistance and cooperation have been invaluable in the 
preparation of this little volume. 

B. L. S. 



INTRODUCTION 

The One-Act Play : Its Relation to the Short Story 

One fateful night, we are told, a king was enter- 
tained at the home of his most famous general. But 
even as he supped, the treacherous host sat in another 
room of his castle, planning the murder of his royal 
guest. He mused upon the deed at length, until m 
the silence of his own chamber, he began to speak 
aloud : 

"U it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well 
It were done quickly." 

And the significance of Macbeth's assertion is not 
confined to the complexity of the affairs which called 
it forth. It would scarcely be an extreme perversion 
to extend the significance of this declaration further. 
Indeed the "key-words" of all modern life may be said 
to be, " 'Twere well it were done quickly !" 

This tendency toward brevity and compression, is 
perhaps most phenomenal in the field of Uterature. In 
a certain sense the short story has already superseded 
the novel ; and now its congenial cousin, the one-act 
play, has come to assume certain of the prerogatives 
of the traditional drama ! 

Of these two ''short" forms, the short story having 
been longer with us, is better known. Its limits, pos- 



INTRODUCTION 

sibilities, and technique have been so frequently ex- 
hibited as to require little discussion. The workings 
of the one-act play, though similar, are more abstruse. 
In either case, however, it is essential for a sane com- 
parison that the form shall speak for itself. 

An interesting introduction to the modern one-act 
play may be obtained in the little plays of this volume. 
Simple situations, "out-of-the-way" episodes, single 
ideas, and few characters make up the effectiveness of 
each. 

As may be seen, often the one-act play is only a 
"dramatized anecdote" without any particular com- 
plication of plot. In so short a space, there can, of 
course, be little or no character development, but there 
certainly is character portrayal, and that of a rather 
subtle sort. The characters in these plays are sug- 
gested by a few broad telling strokes, at the outset being 
sometimes connected by a bit of sparkling dialogue : 

THE BANK ROBBERY 

Chief Robber ( Whispers) : The stuff is in our 
hands, boys. Get to work. 

First Robber: I got me drill ready. 

Chief Robber : Quick, attach the wires. 

Second Robber: Say — soft pedal that gas. I 
ain't hurryin'. 

Were these characters to be described in a short 
story they would undoubtedly lose some of the innate 
charm which the first-hand contact of the playlet re- 
veals. In the one-act play a personal sense of com- 
panionship is gained through action and speech, while 
in the short story the characters are viewed more dis- 



INTRODUCTION 

tantly and Indirectly because of the combination of 
speech and action with description and analysis. 

How utterly inadequate would indirect methods be- 
come in the treatment of vivacious life! The short 
story gives its readers the opportunity of probing 
down into the depths of a man's mind, we may study 
there at length his problems and his emotions, — his 
loves and his hates. The value of all this should not 
be underestimated. There is, however, a possibility 
that there has been of late an extreme pyschological 
emphasis in the short story, so it is refreshing to find 
more frequently in the one-act play the action which 
results in a deed. And in one-act plays like The Bank 
Robbery and The Deacon's Hat physical action has its 
importance. 

This physical action of the one-act play creates in- 
tensity. There is a compression about the play for the 
narrow compass demands that the dialogue though 
entertaining be succinct. It is not always so with the 
short story, often its primary interest Is In style. Even 
when the plot of the story is well handled It Is fre- 
quently the complete and illuminating descriptions 
which give it its fine artistic finish. 

On the other hand, some one-act plays are simply 
impressions, but powerful Impressions. In fact there 
is little to forget, because there is so little action. As 
in the little drama. In the Light of the Manger, and 
Ever Young the illumination is great just because 
there is no thesis, there is simply a transcendent pic- 
ture of life. In even so short a compass the reader's 
experience is permanently enriched; he learns for the 
first time the life of a new world. 



INTRODUCTION 

Now if this same theme were to be developed in 
the short story it might have a tendency to become 
sentimental ; it would then demand a fuller treatment, 
and there is danger in expanding what is best when 
only stated. But here in the little drama there is 
nothing irreverent, nothing cheap. 

Like the short story, the one-act play would teach as 
well as entertain. The Exchange illustrates well the 
acceptability of dramatic teaching, and the superiority 
of its portrayal over the didacticism of a story in the 
Hawthorne style. 

Sometimes the one-act play presents an ugly pic- 
ture, and the effect as a whole is morbid and unhealthy. 
Somehow we like this kind of realism better in the 
story; for example, in one such as Hardy sometimes 
employs. We want it meditated ; even a taste taken 
directly in the one-act play makes a person's mouth 
*'puckery." 

But by far the greater number of one-act plays are 
of a healthier nature, though they often deal with the 
follies and secret tragedies of modern life. Among the 
one-act plays which seem most akin to the story are 
those which George Middleton styles "plays of con- 
temporary life." They deal with intense moments in 
the lives of thinking, feeling men and women. As 
Middleton himself expresses it, "They make no pre- 
tense save to show character in action, and in several 
instances to picture its different reactions from the 
same stimulus." "Certain ideas," he tells us, "find 
their best expression in the concentrated episode." 

An so one might continue, finding always in the 
one-act play as in the short story, variety of theme, 



INTRODUCTION 

variety of treatment, and of charm. In each we ex- 
pect a skilful technique ; indeed both demand a fineness 
of construction. The short story has been defined as 
"a brief, original narrative free from excrescence of 
events cunningly arranged for the production of a 
single predetermined effect." But where we might en- 
dure a little extraneous material in the short story, we 
can not permit it in the one-act play. The latter form 
must always remain a supreme example of concentra- 
tion, intensity, and "crystallization." 

There are those with us who decry both the brief 
story and the brief play because of their limitations. 
To be sure, it must be admitted that in these shorter 
forms problems do not have to be solved, and certain 
arbitrary premises can well be taken. Both the 
dramatist and the novelist, on the other hand, have to 
possess a keener and more penetrating imagination, 
and a finer discrimination than the authors of the 
short story and the one-act play. Sometimes, how- 
ever, limitation spells advantage. With Percy Mac- 
Kaye we may say that these distinctive forms are 
capable of expressing what the longer forms can not. 

So we return to Macbeth as he sits in his castle, 
planning the murder of his royal guest. Again we 
would venture a literary application of his regicidal 
musing : 

"If 'twere done when 'tis done, then 'twere well 
It were done quickly." 

And in the light of modern workmanship one might 
be forgiven for adding this explanatory sentiment : 

"For 'tis not only quickly done, but well !" 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Nevertheless — 
Stuart Walker i 

The Heart Of Pierrot — 
Margretta Scott 23 

The Bank Robbery — 
Max Ehrmann 37 

The Dryad and The Deacon — 
William O. Bates 55 

In The Light of The Manger — 
William O. Bates 67 

Phoebe Louise — 
Bernard Sobel 'J^ 

Ever Young — 
Alice Gerstenberg 97 

The Man Who Couldn't Say "No"— 
Claudia Lucas Harris 133 

The Deacon's Hat — 
Jeanette Marks 155 

The Exchange— 
Althea Thurston 189 



NEVERTHELESS 

By 
Stuart Walker 



STUART WALKER 

Stuart Walker is one of the best-known producers 
and playwrights in America. He was play reader, 
actor, and stage manager with David Belasco, 1909- 
14, but he has been an independent producer since 
July, 1915. He is a producer in New York during 
the winter, and in Indianapolis and Cincinnati during 
the summer. He is the author of Portmanteau Plays, 
1917, More Portmanteau Plays, 1919, The Birthday 
of the Infanta, a dramatization of Oscar Wilde's story. 
Portmanteau Adaptions, 1921, etc. He is a member of 
the American committee of the Salzburg Festival 
Theatre, one of the greatest forces in the theaters of 
the world. 

Stuart Walker is the originator of the Portmanteau 
Theatre, and has frequently delighted ''young people 
from seven to seventy" by his delightful Portmanteau 
performances. Both the children and grown-ups who 
have been fortunate enough to see these perform- 
ances will never forget them. 

No playwright is more dearly loved by the children 
than is Stuart Walker, and he pleases them greatly 
when he himself acts. (He has plans, too, for a real 
theatre especially for the little folks.) Probably not 
since the days of Peter Pan has anything pleased the 
children so much as Mr. Walker's own plays, such 
as Six Who Pass While the Lentils Boil and its 
sequel, Sir David Wears a Crown. Adults, too, are 
charmed by the picturesqueness, originality, quaint 
humor, and beautiful idealism of the Portmanteau 

2 



NEVERTHELESS 3 

plays ; they will never forget that "a trimplet is a hole 
that a sunbeam makes in a shadow," that ''etiquette 
is a set of rules made by people who never smile," or 
that "heaven is full of days and they're all coming 
this way." 

All theatre-goers owe Stuart Walker much. Ed- 
ward Hale Bierstadt has said of him: "I do not 
think I have ever known a man who gave more 
unsparingly of himself in all his work. His never 
wavering belief in his work and his ability has 
brought him through many a pitfall. It is not a 
petty vanity but the strong conceit of the artist, that 
which most of us call by the vague term 'ideals'." 



NEVERTHELESS 

The regeneration of this burglar is not at all an 
ordinary one since it is accomplished by two children 
and a dictionary. But the very whimsicality of the 
play is its charm. As Edward Hale Bierstadt puts 
it, "Whether or not one likes Nevertheless depends 
entirely on one's point of view. If one looks at it 
in the cold gray light of middle-aged inexperience it 
is doubtless a rather tedious trifle, but if one's eyes 
are those of childhood 'where every one lives happy 
ever after' and an all abiding faith in the ultimate 
fitness of things is the chief tenet of one's conviction 
— one will like the play." 

Nevertheless can be directly traced to a course in 
the English and Scottish Ballad that Mr. Walker once 
took under George Morey Miller, who is now profes- 



4 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

sor of English in the University of Idaho. It was 
an experiment in the simplicity of "folk" lore tried 
on the stage. 



(Copyrighted, 1921, by Stewart-Kidd Company. All 
rights reserved. Reprinted by permission of the publishers, 
Stewart-Kidd Company from Portmanteau Plays by Stuart 
Walker. This play is fully protected by copyrights. All 
public performances are forbidden. All dramatic and pro- 
ducing rights are retained by Stuart Walker who may be 
addressed at 304 Carnegie Hall, New York City.) 



NEVERTHELESS 

CAST OF CHARACTERS 

A Girl. 

A Boy. 

A Burglar. 

The Scene is a room just upstairs. 

The Time is last night — or to-night, perhaps. 

Prologue: Our next play is an interlude be- 
fore the curtains. You may sleep during an inter- 
lude, but you mustn't snore or have the nightmare 
because that would be very discourteous to the 
author and very discouraging to us. We can not live 
if you do not like us, and you can not like us if you 
do not keep awake. 

(After the Prologue has bowed the Device-Bearer 
brings tzvo chairs, a stool, a table, a lamp and places 
them on the forestage. If you are not a very grown- 
up you know immediately that you are in a room that 
belongs to very young people. 

(The Boy enters carrying a book. He is angry. 
He looks around to see if any one is looking and 
then goes to the table and tries to remove some money 
from a small bank that has two locks; but he can't 
find the keys. 

(As he is shaking it violently in an attempt to force 
it, the Girl enters.) 

Girl : Billie ! 

5 



6 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Boy: I will force it! 

Girl: You made a compact with me. 

Boy: Don't use words like that — I hate words. 
(He continues to try to force the hank.) 

Girl: It's a miserable shame, Billie Cleves! 

Boy: Now, Lou, don't use any more words on 
me. I won't stand it. 

Girl: Well, what shall I say? 

Boy: Say dirty shame. 

Girl : Billie ! 

Boy: I don't care. I'm tired of being corrected 
all the time. When I'm old enough to paddle my 
own canoe, I'm going to murder grammar all the 
time. I'm going to use short words and I hope ril 
say "I seen" and "I would have went." 

Girl: Billie Cleves! 

Boy: And, if I can get this bank open, I'll go 
away forever to-night and I'll talk just as I please. 

Girl: My, Billie! You are angry! 

Boy: Angry! I'm mad! I'm awful mad! (He 
shakes the hank terrifically.) 

Girl: You'll break it. 

Boy: I don't care. I'm going to bu'st it — 

Girl: Billie, mother wouldn't like that word at 
all. 

Boy: I don't care. I'm going to bu — break it 
open and then I'm going to leave home forever. (He 
puts it on the floor and starts to trample it.) 

Girl: Billie Cleves, don't you dare! That's half 
mine. And you can't open it unless we both agree. 

Boy: Who said so? 

Girl: Why, it was our compact. 



NEVERTHELESS 7 

Boy: If you were fourteen years old, Louise 
Cleves, and your mother punished you for speaking 
bad English you'd forget all about compacts. 

Girl: No, I wouldn't. 

Boy: Yes, you would. 

Girl: No, I wouldn't. 

Boy: You don't know what you'd do; you're not 
fourteen and you're not a boy. 

Girl: I wouldn't break a compact if I were a 
hundred and fourteen. 

Boy: Now, Lou, listen. 

Girl: I don't want to listen.* 

Boy: Just put yourself in my place. 

Girl: Billie Cleves, we agreed never, never to 
open that bank until we were in need of food and 
clothing. 

Boy: Well, I'm in need, Lou. 

Girl : No, you're not ; father and mother give you 
all the food and clothes you want. 

Boy: But I'm going to run away forever and go 
to Honolulu or Texas. 

Girl: No, you're not. 

Boy: I am. 

Girl: Well, Billie, you deserved to be corrected. 

Boy: All I said was, ^'Ji^^'s a rotten rider." And 
he is. 

Girl: Well, that wasn't nice. 

Boy (Exasperated at not being able to open the 
bank): Lou, where is my key? 

Girl: I put it away. 

Boy : Where ? 

Girl: Our compact was for me to take the key 



8 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

to your blue lock and hide it, and you were to take 
the key to my pink lock and hide it so we couldn't 
fall into temptation. 

Boy : I'll pick the locks like a burglar. 

Girl: You can't. They're both pick-proof. And 
there's only one key in all the whole wide world for 
each lock. 

Boy: I'll get your key and open your lock. 

Girl: My key won't open your lock. 

Boy: I can't find yours where I hid it. 

Girl: I found it and hid it again. 

Boy: \Vhere is it? 

Girl : I don't think I ought to tell you, Billie, I'm 
afraid you'll fall into temptation. 

Boy: How about you? 

Girl: Boys are more easily tempted than women. 

Boy: H-m! 

Girl: Because they get out more. 

Boy: I'll throw it and break it. 

Girl: Now, Billie, don't be rash. 

Boy: I don't care. 

Girl: Father'll hear you. 

Boy: Father won't hear me much longer about 
this house. 

Girl: Please, Billie, read your book. 

Boy: I won't do it, I won't. I'm sick of goody- 
goody books. , 

Girl: What did mother give you to read.^ 

Boy (Sullenly): There it is. 

Girl: The Narrow Path! Why, she sent me up 
here to read that, too. 

Boy: What for? 



NEVERTHELESS 9 

Girl : I said *'he don't" instead of "he doesn't." 

Boy: Just after I said it? 

Girl : Yes. 

Boy: You are a goose. 

Girl: But I don't get angry like you do. 

Boy: You're not as old as I am. Other boys of 
my age do pretty much as they please. 

Girl : Well, here we are. There's no use quarrel- 
ing, because it's mother's plan to make us read a 
fine book whenever we make mistakes in grammar. 
And you know mother's plans! (She opens the 
book.) Oh, dear, no pictures! . . . Let's hurry 
up. 

Boy: I won't do it. 

Girl: Come on, Billie, and get it over with. 

Boy: Give me the keys or I'll break — I'll bu'st it. 

Girl: I won't give you the keys and you won't 
break it — William Cleves, if you don't live up to 
our compact, I'll not have anything more to do with 
you. 

Boy: I don't care. (He throws the bank vio- 
lently.) 

Girl: Billie! (She pounces upon the bank and 
bursts into tears.) I never thought you'd do it. (The 
Boy moves about uneasily.) I never thought you'd do 
it. (She weeps torrentially.) 

Boy: Now, Lou — 

Girl : You broke our compact and tried to destroy 
our bank. 

Boy (Defianth): I tried to bu'st it — and I hope I 
did. 

Girl: Billie Cleves! — Well, you didn't even nick 



10 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

it. (She takes up the hook after carefully placing 
the hank so that the Boy can't get it.) 

Boy: Lou, won't you lend me the keys a 
moment ? 

Girl (Relentlessly) : You broke a compact. 

Boy: Please, Lou. 

Girl : I have my reading to do. 

Boy: I'm going to go away — forever — Lou! 

Girl : Good-by. 

Boy (Fiercely) : I want my money ! 

Girl: It's our money. And I'm the guardian. 

Boy: All right. . . . Good-by. 

Girl: Good-by. (Reading.) "The Narrow Path 
is very steep and straight. It leads to a land of gold 
and it is not easy to negotiate because Heaven thinks 
it is best for people to climb for what they want. 
Nevertheless — -' 

Boy: Are you going to give me the money to run 
away with? 

Girl : No. 

Boy : Good-by. 

Girl: A compact is binding to both parties, father 
says. 

Boy : Good-by. 

Girl : Good-by (Reading.) "Nevertheless — 
neverthelss — " (She begins to giggle deliciously.) 

Boy: What's funny, Lou? 

Girl: Come here and look, Billie. (The Boy 
drags himself to the book.) 

Boy: What? 

Girl: This word. 

Boy: Never — the — less. It's like any other word. 



NEVERTHELESS 11 

Girl: No, it isn't. Steep and straight and they 
all look like something. But this is just funny. 

Boy: Nevertheless. (The Girl goes off into gales 
of laughter.) 

Boy (Reading further and turning the page): 
Here it is again. (He laughs.) 

Girl : Where ? 

Boy: Here. (Turning back.) 

Girl: Neverthe — (turning the page and going 
into another paroxysm of laughter as she finds the 
rest of the word on the next page) — less. 

Boy: It is funny-looking! 

Girl: What does it mean? 

Boy: I'll look in the dictionary. 

Girl: I know what it means in a way, but I can't 
explain it — 

Boy: So do I. (He goes to the dictionary.) 

Girl: Never — ^the — less. (She looks up and sees 
that the Boy is busy. She looks around cautiously, 
then takes up the bank and hides it. As she hears 
the Boy coming back, she resumes her seat and the 
hook.) 

Boy: It means notwithstanding, yet, however. 

Girl: Dictionaries never tell you the real, honest, 
true, live meaning, do they, Billie? 

Boy (Fascinated): Never — ^the — less. 

Girl: It's three words all huddled together. 
(She pictures them on her fingers.) 

Boy (Counting the words on his fingers) : Never — 
the — less. 

Girl: How did they come together? 

Boy (Losing himself in the puzzle) : I don't know. 



12 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Girl: Let's ask mother. 

Boy (Remembering his anger) : No, I won't. 

Girl: I will. 

Boy: Let's be independent, Lou. I don't like to 
ask favors when I'm punished. 

Girl : Well, I'm being punished, too ; but I want 
to know all about this funny word. 

Boy: Let's try some other way. 

Girl: I know! 

Boy: What? 

Girl : They say if you put out the lights and shut 
your eyes very tight and wait very patiently that an 
elf will come and tell you anything you want to 
know. 

Boy: I don't believe in elfs. 

Girl : Billie ! 

Boy: I don't. 

Girl: The plural of elf is elves. We had it to- 
day. 

Boy (Exasperated): I knew it, — ^but I get tired of 
having to think about everything before I speak. 
Sometimes I try not to think at all. 

Girl (Going to the lamp): I'm going to turn out 
the light. 

Boy (Scornfully): Nothing will happen. 

Girl: Well, we can try. 

Boy: Lou, where's the bank? 

Girl: I hid it, Billie. 

Boy: You shan't hide my money! 

Girl: Keep quiet, Billie, and sit down. (She 
puts the light out.) 

Boy (Sheepishly) : I feel so silly. 



NEVERTHELESS 13 

Girl: Are your eyes shut? 

Boy: No. 

Girl: Billy, please shut your eyes. 

Boy : I won't do it . . . I'm going to turn on 
the light. 

Girl: Now, Billie . . . (He evidently starts 
for the lamp.) I'll give you the keys if you're good. 

Boy : Now ? 

Girl: No, afterward. 

Boy (Turning on the lamp) : Promise. 

Girl: Yes. (Out goes the light as she pulls it.) 
Are you sitting down? 

Boy: Uh-huh! 

Girl: Are your eyes shut? 

Boy: Uh-huh! 

Girl: Tight? 

Boy: Uh-huh! 

Girl: And when he comes don't talk. 

Boy: Uli— . 

Girl: 'Cause you don't believe and you might 
frighten him away. 

Boy: Uh— . 

Girl: Where are you, Billie? 

Boy: Here I am. 

Girl: Move over. 

Boy: There isn't much room. 

Girl: Now. (Silence.) Do you hear any- 
thing? 

Boy: No. (Silence. A pole light appears be- 
tween the curtains, then a dark form. The light is 
shut off and presently reappears at the table. The 
Burglar opens the drawer and, taking out some pretty 



14 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

things, puts them in his pocket. The light goes out. 
Silence,) 

Girl : Billie, I just can't stand it a moment longer. 
Don't you hear the elf? . . . (A sound.) There 
he is ! (The light comes on again and the Burglar 
takes up the bank. Just as he is putting it in his 
pocket, the Girl speaks.) 

Girl: Do you know what nevertheless means? 
(The bank goes clattering to the floor. The light 
is turned upon the two children. The Burglar takes 
a step forward and stumbles over the bank.) 

Burglar: Don't holler. (The Boy turns the light 
on.) 

Boy: A burglar! 

Girl: If you don't move, Billie, a burglar won't 
hurt you. 

Boy: Hold up your hands, Lou. 

Boy and Girl (Holding up their hands) : We give 
up. 

Burglar: Put out the light. 

Girl: Please don't put out the light. . . . 
We'll be good. (A door is heard to close in the next 
room.) 

Burglar: Put out the light. (The light goes 
out.) Who was that? 

Girl : Mary. 

Burglar: What's she doing? 

Boy : Don*t you tell him, Lou. Make him let you 
turn the light on. 

Girl (Deciding to weep): Vm afraid of the dark. 

Burglar : Quit your bawling and put on the light. 
(The Boy puts on the light.) What's she doing? 



NEVERTHELESS 15 

Girl: She's setting the burglar alarm for the 
night. 

Burglar: How do I get out of here? 

Girl : You can't get out because if you open any- 
thing all the bells will ring and the police will come. 

Boy (Bravely stepping forzvard): We'll put you 
in jail. (As the Burglar turns, however, he units.) 

Girl: Billie, let's let him go if he tells us what 
nevertheless means. 

Burglar : Huh ? 

Girl: Do you know what nevertheless means? 

Burglar: What's nevertheless? 

Girl: It's a word. 

Burglar: What's the game? 

Boy: If you know what nevertheless means we'll 
let you go. 

Girl: It's a compact. 

Burglar: Promise you won't give me up? 

Girl: We won't give you up. ... Sit down. 
(The Burglar sits.) 

Boy: Where's your pistol? 

Burglar: I ain't got none. 

Girl: Oh, you mustn't say that. 

Burglar: Well, I ain't. 

Girl: It's very wrong to say "I ain't." My 
mother would make us read all The Narrow Path if 
we talked like that. 

Burglar (Puzzled): What! 

Boy: They carry pistols in Texas. 

Burglar: Well, I ain't never used none, and I 
ain't never been in Texas, and what's more I ain't 
never going to Texas! 



16 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Girl: He's a very pleasant burglar, Billie. 

Burglar: Well, I'm in a pickle, but I can't hurt 
no kids. 

Girl: See, Billie, how bad grammar sounds? 

Burglar: I don't care nothing about grammar. 
When you have to paddle your own canoe, you can't 
take no time for grammar. 

Girl : Oh, dear, Billie, don't ever paddle your own 
canoe . . . Billie . . . (She goes to whisper 
to the Boy. To the Burglar, as she passes him): 
Excuse me. (To the Boy): Vm going to try 
mother's plan on him. I'm going to read to him! 
(The Burglar rises and looks around.) 

Boy (Whispering): I'm going to call father. 

Girl: Now, Billie, maybe we can make him good. 

Boy: Well, he can't get away and he hasn't a 
pistol — 

Burglar : Hey, quit your jawing and give me up 
if you want to. 

Girl : We're not going to give you up. 

Burglar : Huh ? 

Girl: We're going to read to you. 

Burglar: Quit your kidding. 

Girl: How does it feel to be a burglar? 

Burglar: Not so good. 

Girl: Aren't you afraid to be a burglar? 

Boy: 'Course not. Look how big he is. 

Girl: Aren't you ashamed to be a burglar? 

Burglar: Well ... I ain't never burgled 
before. 

Girl: Well, that's not so bad, but just the same 
we're going to read to you. 



NEVERTHELESS 17 

Burglar: What for? 

Girl: Because you use bad grammar. 

Burglar: You're funny kids. Ain't you scared? 

Boy (Magnificently): No! 

Burglar (Turning suddenly): Huh? (The Boy 
retreats in gloriously.) 

Girl: You wouldn't hurt us, would you? 

Burglar: Why wouldn't I? 

Girl: We didn't do anything to you. 

Burglar: You trapped me. 

Girl: We didn't know you were coming. 

Burglar: What was you hiding for? 

Girl: We expected some one else. 

Burglar: Go on! (The Boy moves a chair 
cautiously toward tliQ Burglar and finally summons 
the courage to sit down beside him.) 

Boy (Pleasantly): Did you know Jesse James? 

Burglar: I heard of him but I ain't never seen 

him. 

Girl: What made you begin? 

Burglar : Never mind ... I began and I 
got caught. . . . Now what? 

Girl: I'm going to read to you. 

Burglar (Resignedly): Go ahead. 

Girl: Do you want to read, Billie? 

Boy (Unselfishly): No! 

Girl : This is all about the narrow path. 

Burglar : Uh-huh. 

Girl (Reading): "The Narow Path is very steep 
and straight. It leads to a land of gold and it is not 
easy to negotiate because Heaven thinks it is best for 
people to climb for what they want. Nevetheless— " 



18 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

(The Boy and Girl burst out laughing so suddenly 
that the Burglar is quite startled.) 

Burglar (Uneasily): What are you laughing at? 

Girl (Pointing to ^'nevertheless"): It's such a 
funny word. 

Burglar: Ain't it just like other words? 

Girl: Don't it look funny? 

Boy: Don't it look funny? 

Girl: I mean doesn't it look funny? (The three 
huddle together over the hook.) 

Burglar (Muttering) ;N-E-V-E-R-T-H-E-L-E-S-S. 
Huh! It does look sort o' funny . . . What's 
the rest of it? 

Girl (Reading): "Nevertheless the narrow path 
is not all hardship." 

Burglar: Maybe not; but it was pretty hard for 
me. 

Girl: Have you tried it? 

Burglar : Yep. But I slipped. ... Go on. 

Girl (Reading): "On the other hand, the prim- 
rose path is broad and it slopes gently downward, but 
it leads to the land of thorns. Neverthe — (She turns 
a page) — less — " (Again the children go into gales 
of laughter.) 

Burglar : Huh ? 

Girl: Look. (Again they huddle over the hook.) 

Burglar: N-E-V-E-R-T-H-E-L-E-S-S. . . . 
It is funny. (He joins heartily in the laughter.) 

Girl: You see — it's three words and they don't 
mean anything unless they are all huddled together 
just like we are now. (They all laugh uproariously.) 



NEVERTHELESS 19 

Boy (Oft the friendliest of terms now): Do you 
walk the primrose path? 

Burglar: Go on! I'm m the land of thorns. 

Girl: Well, how did you get there if you didn't 
walk the primrose path? 

Burglar: I just naturally fell. 

Girl: Don't you know the meaning of neverthe- 
less? 

Burglar : I sort o' know the meaning, but I can't 
put it into words. 

Girl: Can you act it out? 

Burglar: What do you mean — act it out? 

Girl: Sometimes when Billie and I can't put 
things into words we act them out. Like this: If I 
want to tell some one what revolves means I just do 
this . . . and then they know. 

Burglar: Aw, yes, you pertend! 

Girl: Oh . . . Well — Can't you p-p-pertend 
nevertheless ? 

Burglar: I hardly think so. 

Boy: Did you get tired on the narrow path? 

Burglar: Ye-eh. . . . But I wish I hadn't. 

Girl: Can't you climb back? 

Burglar: Nope. It's too late. 

Girl: Mother says it's never too late to do right. 

Burglar: Sure it is. A man what's been in jail 
can't get straight again. 

Boy (Admiringly) : Have you been in jail? 

Burglar: No, but once is enough. 

Girl: When are you going to jail? 

Burglar: To-night, I guess. 

Boy: What for? 



20 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Burglar: For breaking in here! 

Girl: We aren't going to send you to jail. 

Burglar : Maybe not, but your paw and maw will. 
(Whimsically): 'Sides I can't tell you what never- 
theless means and I can't act it out. And a compact's 
a compact, ain't it? 

Girl: Mother won't put you in jail. She's too 
kind. 

Boy (With sad memories) : But she's awful strict 
about grammar and ugly words. 

Girl: She says it's easy to walk the narrow path. 

Boy: Father isn't so sure, but he says it can be 
done. 

Girl : Come on and we'll help you. 

Burglar: Come on where? 

Boy: Come on and walk the narrow path with us. 

Burglar: Where is it? 

Girl : Here. 

Burglar: What's the game? 

Girl: Mother says if we can walk a straight line 
out that door without wabbling, we can walk the nar- 
row path all our lives without any trouble. 

Boy: To speak of. 

Burglar: What's on the other side of that door? 

Boy and Girl: Father and mother. 

Burglar: You seem to be pretty straight kids, 
but it's too late for me. 

Girl: No, it isn't. 

Burglar: Yes, it's too late. Til take the back 
door and try to make my get-away. 

Girl : Billie, you ask him. 



NEVERTHELESS 21 

Boy: I'd like to have you come with us, sir. 
Dad's a fine man and mother's a great woman. 

Girl: All we have to do is to walk straight 
through that door without wabbling — 

Boy: Come on — 

Burglar: I think it*s too late for me — neverthe- 
less — (He takes their hands.) 

Girl (Ecstatically): Oh, he's acted out neverthe- 
less! Billie, don't you see the real, honest, true, live 
meaning? . . . Come on, let's start. (They 
start carefully for the door and, as they come to the 
safe they stop. The Burglar looks ruefully at it a 
moment.) 

Girl: Don't wabble now. We've almost made 
it — (They keep on for the door.) Isn't it easy? 
And mother says if you can do this little bit, you can 
do it always. (When they disappear through the 
door, the play is over,) 



THE HEART OF PIERROT 

A One- Act Play for Children 

By 

Margretta Scott 



MARGRETTA SCOTT 

Margretta Scott has always lived in St. Louis, has 
written since 1914, and is at present working on her 
first novel. Miss Scott supplies no autobiographical 
information, but her record as a writer is distinctive 
and impressive. She is the poet who won the recog- 
nition of the late William Marion Reedy, in whose 
Mirror her poems have appeared. She has also con- 
tributed to Harriet Monroe's Poetry Magadne, and 
to the Touchstone. Her play, Three Kisses, won a 
prize in a drama competition in 1919. Several of her 
poetic plays have been published in The Drama (Chi- 
cago). She posseses an exquisite gift of symbolism 
and lovely fantasy. 

THE HEART OF PIERROT 

The "symbolism and lovely fancy" of Margretta 
Scott are always refreshing. Pierrot is a lovable 
little hero who chooses wisely his precious gift from 
the "Clown of Clowns." And he makes a happy dis- 
covery, — that there is no need for economy in the 
use of laughter. 

Pierrot: But, mister, suppose I use up all the 
laughs ? 

Clown of the Clowns : For each laugh you take 
out, two more will take its place. 

And in the end the Clown of Clowns gives us more 
philosophy than we at first realize: 

24 



THE HEART OF PIERROT 25 

"Do you know what your bag will be? . . . 
It will be the heart of Pierrot." 



(Copyrighted. Reprinted from the Drama Magazine. 
For permission to reproduce The Heart of Pierrot address 
Margretta Scott, 5414 Delmar Avenue, St. Louis, Missouri.) 



THE HEART OF PIERROT 

CHARACTERS 

Pierrot: Eight or nine years. He is dressed as a 
typical little clown, in a white suit with 
black buttons, and with pointed cap. He 
carries a jumping- jack in one hand, a red 
bag in the other. 

Mama Pierrot : A middle-aged woman. She is very 
fat, with whitened face, a white dress, 
with black buttons down the front of the 
waist, a white apron on which are pasted 
bright colored figures of clowns, dogs, cats 
and the like. A tall white cap is on her 
head. 

An Old Woman : She is fat and wears a bonnet 
and shawl. 

A Newsboy : Eight or nine years old. He is ragged 
and dirty, and carries papers under one 
arm. 

Young Girl: She is prettily dressed. 

Little Girl: Seven or eight years old. She is 
richly dressed and carries a doll in her 
arms. 

Mother and Child: The mother about thirty, the 
child three or four. The child is running 
by the mother's side, laughing and skip- 
ping. 

Negro Boy : Eight or nine years old. He is ragged, 

26 



THE HEART OF PIERROT 27 

dirty and carries a sack of coal on his 
back. 
Clown of the Clowns: Very, very old. He is 
red, fat, rolling in gait. He is dressed as 
the other clowns, but in richer materials, 
with small bells sewed on his clothes which 
make a jolly noise when he walks. 

Scene : In a quaint little street there is a queer little 
red brick house with green shutters on which are cres- 
cent moons. Steps lead up to house. In the front yard 
are wooden cats, dogs and chickens, all brightly 
painted. There is snow on the ground for it is an 
afternoon in winter. 

Mama Pierrot is standing in front of the house 
talking to Pierrot zvho has just come from the school 
where little clowns learn to be fimny. 

Mama Pierrot : Were you funny to-day at school, 
dearie ? 

Pierrot (Working his jumping- jack) : Yep, I 
made the teacher laugh so hard he most fell off his 
high stool. 

Mama Pierrot (Proudly) : You always were good 
at playing. (Anxiously.) Did you know your 
somersault ? 

Pierrot (Not so glibly) : I knew the single somer- 
sault, but I didn't do so good at the double one. 

Mama Pierrot (Pleating the ruffle around Pier- 
rot's neck:) Say "well," dearie, not *'good." 

Pierrot: I didn't do so well. (Sticking out his 
tongue and trying to reach his nose.) To-day I 
reached my nose. 



28 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Mama Pierrot: Be careful, dearie, don't stretch 
your tongue. 

Pierrot (Opening his red hag): I need some new 
toys — these are most worn out. 

Mama Pierrot (Looking into the hag): Toys are 
so expensive these days. I must try to get some 
second-hand ones. Are you careful at school when 
you play with them? 

Pierrot: Yep. (He takes a feather out of his 
pocket and tickles the hack of his mother's neck. 
They both laugh uproariously.) 

Mama Pierrot: I must go in now and tie up 
those pig tails for dinner. 

Pierrot (Laughing) : I just love pig tails — they're 
so funny. What kind of ribbon are you going to use? 

Mama Pierrot (Thinking): How about blue? 

Pierrot: I like red. (Chuckling.) Ain't it funny 
when you take the ribbon off and they wiggle all 
around the plate? 

Mama Pierrot (Absent-mindedly): Yes. (Put- 
ting her hand under Pierrot's chin.) Dearie, be sure 
and whiten your face before dinner. 

Pierrot (Sulkily): It don't need whitening. 

Mama Pierrot (Reprovingly): Is that the way 
for a little clown to act? 

Pierrot: Well, I don't care. I whitened it this 
morning. 

Mama Pierrot : Do you want to look just like any 
other little boy? 

Pierrot: No, ma'am. 

Mama Pierrot: Well then, keep your face 
whitened. (She starts to go into the house.) 



THE HEART OF PIERROT 29 

Pierrot : I haven't got anything to do — what shall 
I do? 

Mama Pierrot: You'd better study your playing 
for to-morrow — try turning those double somersaults. 

Pierrot: I'm tired of that. (Discontentedly.) I 
haven't got anything to do. 

Mama Pierrot (Coming back to him): I know 
what would be nice. 

Pierrot (Interestedly) : What? 

Mama Pierrot : You stand here, and every 
little girl and boy who pass crying, make them 
laugh. 

Pierrot (Clapping his hands): That'll be fun — 
to make every little girl and boy who pass here cry- 
ing, laugh. (Mama Pierrot goes into the house. 
Pierrot sings a tuneless little song; "They'll go by 
crying and I will make 'em laugh." He zvorks his 
jumping-jack and tries to walk on his hands. A Fat 
Old Woman enters from the right. She shuffles by, 
smiles at Pierrot, and goes on. After she passes a 
Newsboy enters from the left. He is crying and 
blowing on his hands to make them warm. His news- 
papers are under his arm.) 

Pierrot: Hello. (The Nezvsboy puts his papers 
down and beats his hands together.) 

Pierrot (Offering his jumping-jack) : Here. (The 
Newsboy, still crying, shakes his head and blows on 
his fingers. Pierrot zvorks the jumping-jack, but the 
Nezvsboy does not notice him.) 

Pierrot (Suddenly inspired): I know a game for 
cold hands. (The Newsboy looks at him.) It's called 
"Hot Hands." 



30 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Newsboy (Dubiously) : Does it make your hands 
hot? 

Pierrot : Sure. 

Newsboy (Putting his hands in his pockets) : How 
do you play it? 

Pierrot (Laying his jumping-jack on the pave- 
ment): You got to sit down to play it. (They sit 
on the house steps.) Now you do what I do. 
(Thinking.) I know a game that's better than "Hot 
Hands" ; it's 'Tease Porridge Hot." We'll play that. 
Now you do what I do. (Pierrot puts his hands on 
his knees, slaps them together, and turns them palms 
out. He sings, ''Pease porridge hot, pease porridge 
cold, pease porridge in the pot, nine days old. Some 
like it hot, some like it cold, some like it in the pot, 
nine days old.'' He suits the actions to the words. 
The Newsboy follows him. Soon they are both 
laughing.) 

Pierrot: Now are your hands cold? 

Newsboy' (Putting his hands to Pierrot's face): 
Feel. 

Pierrot: They're hot as a fox. 

Newsboy (Laughing) : Gee, that's funny talk — 
*'hot as a fox." (Picking up his newspapers.) I got 
to beat it. So long. (He runs off laughing. Pierrot 
plays "Pease Porridge Hot" with himself, singing the 
words. A pretty Young Girl enters from the left. 
She smiles at Pierrot, walks past him and disappears. 
After she passes a richly dressed Little Girl, carrying 
a doll, enters. She drops the doll.) 

Little Girl: Oh, my! (She picks up the doll, 
whose face is broken, and starts crying.) 



THE HEART OF PIERROT 31 

Pierrot (Working his jumping- jack frantically): 
Say, look here, ain't that funny? 

Little Girl (Burying her face in her arm): Oh, 
my doll, my pretty doll! 

Pierrot (Examining the doll): What's her name? 

Little Girl : Dorothy. (Sobbing.) She was my 
favorite, she was the prettiest doll I had. 

Pierrot: Well, you shouldn't have picked her up, 
you know. 

Little Girl: Why not? She's my doll. 

Pierrot (Mysteriously) : You should have left her 
in the snow. (He pauses.) You know what the snow 
is, don't you? 

Little Girl (Interestedly): No — what? 

Pierrot (Dramatically) : It's Santa Claus's mail- 
box. 

Little Girl (Round-eyed) : What? 

Pierrot (With conviction): It's Santa Claus's 
mail box. 

Little Girl: Honest? 

Pierrot: Yep — if you left that doll in the snow 
Santa Glaus would drive by — 

Little Girl: With his reindeers? 

Pierrot: With his reindeers — in his big sleigh. 

Little Girl: And what would he do? 

Pierrot: He would take your doll out of his mail- 
box. 

Little Girl: Out of the snow? 

Pierrot (Nodding) : Yep, out of the snow— that's 
his mail-box. 

Little Girl: Then what would he do? 

Pierrot: He would take it home, and have it 



32 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

fixed up, and put it in the stocking of some little poor 
girl. 

Little Girl (Delightedly): Oh, I think that 
would be very nice. (Clapping her hands.) Let's 
put her back in the snow and bury her. (They bury 
the doll in the snow.) 

Little Girl : I would like to kiss you, you funny 
little boy. (Pierrot laughs shyly, and they kiss each 
other. The Little Girl runs off laughing. Pierrot 
opens his bag and takes out a rubber ball. A Mother, 
her Little Girl skipping by her side, enters. They 
walk across and go out. After they pass a Little 
Negro Boy comes in. He is carrying a sack of coal 
on his back. He puts it down and starts to cry, one 
hand to his eyes, the other trying to rub his back.) 

Pierrot : Hello. 

Negro Boy (Blubbering): My back hurts — dat 
coal weighs a ton. I'm sick a-toting it. 

Pierrot: That's not coal. 

Negro Boy: I reckon it is coal. 

Pierrot: No, that's not coal. 

Negro Boy (Blinking): What is it den? 

Pierrot (Dancing around the sack): That's a 
little white pig. 

Negro Boy: Go on! 

Pierrot (Laughing): Sure it is. I heard him 
squeal when you put him down. 

Negro Boy (Looking into the sack): Sure dat's 
coal — and it's as black as I am. 

Pierrot: It's a little white pig, and you'll eat him 
for dinner. 

Negro Boy: That's good eatin' — pigs. 



THE HEART OF PIERROT 33 

Pierrot (Sticking out his stomach and carrying an 
Imaginary platter): You'll carry him like this on a 
big plate. 

Negro Boy (Laughing): Go on! 

Pierrot: He'll be brown then 'stead of white, but 
his tail will still be curly. 

Negro Boy (Interestedly): Them pigs' tails are 
crimped tight as my wool. (They both laugh.) 

Pierrot: And do you know what he'll have in 
his mouth? 

Negro Boy: Teeth, I reckon. 

Pierrot (Dancing gleefully): No. 

Negro Boy (Excitedly): What den? 

Pierrot: A red apple. 

Negro Boy (Laughing) : Go on! 

Pierrot (Dramatically): And do you know what 
he'll have in his eyes? 

Negro Boy: I 'spects he'll have eyes in his 

eyes. 

Pierrot : No. 

Negro Boy: What? 

Pierrot: Red cranberries. 

Negro Boy: Go on! 

Pierrot: His eyes will be of red cranberries. 

Negro Boy (Admiringly): He'll be real smart- 
lookin'. (Picking up his sack of coal) Go on, this 
ain't no pig. (He goes off laughing. The Clown of 
the Clowes comes in from the right. His bells are 
making a jolly noise as he walks. He stops before 
Pierrot, his hands on his hips, and looks down at him 
laughing.) 

Pierrot (Looking up): Who are you, mister? 



34 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Clown of the Clowns: I'm the Clown of the 
Clowns. (Pierrot takes off his cap respectfully.) 

Pierrot (Appraisingly) : You're awful old, ain't 
you? 

Clown of the Clowns: I was born long ago — 
long ago. 

Pierrot (Interestedly) : How long ago? 

Clown of the Clowns: When the world first 
grew sad I was born. 

Pierrot: Why was you born then? 

Clown of the Clowns: Because the world had 
forgotten how to laugh. 

Pierrot: When do you think you'll die? 

Clown of the Clowns (Resignedly): When the 
world can laugh without me I will die. 

Pierrot: Oh! (There is a pause.) 

Clown of the Clowns: I've been watching you 
make the children laugh. You've done work a clown 
should be proud of. 

Pierrot: How could you see me? 

Clown of the Clowns (With dignity): Am I 
not Clown of the Clowns? 

Pierrot (A little frightened) : Yes, sir. 

Clown of the Clowns : I want to give you some- 
thing. What do you want? 

Pierrot (Animatedly): A lot of things. 

Clown of the Clowns: Think carefully. I can 
give you just one thing. 

Pierrot (Thinking): I want a bag — (He hesi- 
tates.) 

Clown of the Clowns: Yes — 

Pierrot: I want a bag of laughter. 



THE HEART OF PIERROT 35 

Clown of the Clowns (Pleaded): Very good, 
very good. 

Pierrot: Yes, sir. 

Clown of the Clowns: I'll give you a bag full 
of laughter — and it will never be empty. 

Pierrot: But, mister, suppose I use up all the 
laughs. 

Clown of the Clowns : For each laugh you take 
out, two more will take its place. 

Pierrot (Clapping his hands): Thanks — thanks. 
Clown of the Clowns : Do you know what your 
bag will be? 

Pierrot: Just a bag. 

Clown of the Clowns: It will be the heart of 
Pierrot. (The Clown of the Clowns pats him on the 
head and walks up the street. Pierrot hears a rapping 
at the windozv. He looks around and sees Mama 
Pierrot who is smiling and beckoning him to come in. 
He goes to the door and stands with his hand on the 
door knob, looking up the street where the Clozvn of 
the Clowns has disappeared.) 



Curtain 



THE BANK ROBBERY 

A Take-Off 

by 

Max Ehrmann 



MAX EHRMANN 

Max Ehrmann was born in Indiana, and is now, 
during a part of each year, a resident of Terre Haute. 
He is a graduate of DePauw and Harvard and is a 
member of the Author's Club of London and of the 
Author's League of America. 

Mr. Ehrmann's earHer works are A Farrago, a col- 
lection of prose stories and sketches, and The Mystery 
of Madeline Le Blanc, a novel. He has published 
books of poems at intervals. His recent works are 
the beautiful poetic dramas, David and Bathsheba, 
The Wife of Marobius, and Jesus, a Passion Play. 
The work which has won for this author universal 
recognition and v/hich perhaps best shows his aspira- 
tions, is that beautiful prose poem, A Prayer. It has 
been printed into the millions of copies, translated, and 
is known almost the world over. 

Max Ehrmann is so true an artist that he can not 
yield his talents to commercial ends. He himself 
gives as an article in his artistic creed: "I would 
rather live plainly and be the author of some bit of 
chaste prose that should abide amid the perpetual flux, 
than to live luxuriously on the returns of innumerable 
volumes of merely commercial fiction." 

The one-act play. The Bank Robbery, is very unlike 
most of Mr. Ehrmann's work. It is quite as delight- 
ful in its own way, however, both to the reader and 
to the Little Theatre lover. 



38 



THE BANK ROBBERY 39 

THE BANK ROBBERY 

As the author's subtitle indicates this play is a 
take-off on the labor situation. Though Mr. Ehrmann 
writes farce only occasionally, his usual work being 
exquisite poetic drama and tragedy, he has here shown 
himself to be a master of farcical plot, climax and 
humor. The student who enjoys O'Henry's surprise 
endings in prose fiction will appreciate the element 
of surprise here. It is interesting in this connection 
to contrast the difference between prose fiction and 
dramatic technique. 



(Copyrighted. Applications to produce The Bank Rob- 
bery should be addressed to Mr. Max Ehrmann, 128>^ South 
Sixth Street, Terre Haute, Indiana.) 



THE BANK ROBBERY 

Chief Robber. 
First Robber. 
Second Robber. 
Night Watchman. 
Policemen. 

The Scene is in front of a money safe, the door of 
which is dimly lighted by a single electric light. All 
else is in darkness. 

Chief Robber (Whispers): The stuff is in our 
hands, boys. Get to work. 

First Robber: I got me drill ready. 

Chief Robber: Quick, attach the wires. 

Second Robber: Say — soft pedal that gas. I 
ain't hurryin'. - (He unscrews the electric bulb over 
the safe, and inserts another attachment. Instantly 
the low buzz of the drill is heard. The room is now 
dark except for a flash-light on the drill at the safe 
door.) 

Chief Robber: She's running fine. Lay her to. 
(The sound changes a bit as the drill gnaws into the 
steel.) Get out the dynamite and the fuse. 

Second Robber (Flashing his light over a grip): 
Can't you see me diggin' fer ut? 

Chief Robber: Hurry up, and don't talk so loud. 

Second Robber: WHio's runnin' this job? 

Chief Robber: I am. 

Second Robber : You does the talkin', but we does 
the work. 

40 



THE BANK ROBBERY 41 

First Robber (The buzz of the drill ceasing) : Cut 
off the face gas, or I quits, an' gits out. The drill 
makes 'nough noise. 

Chief Robber: Turn on that drill. 

First Robber : When you quits talkin', I goes tuh 
work, not before. 

Chief Robber: You won't — eh? (Flashing his 
light on the drill.) Give it to me. I'll drill. 

First Robber: I'll give ut tuh you on the head. 
Back up. 

Chief Robber: Give me that drill. 

First Robber : Lay down and be still. (The buzz 
of the drill is heard again.) 

Second Robber: This yere dynamite and fuse 
ain't never been attached yet. 

Chief Robber: Well, you attach them. 

Second Robber: Me? It ain't me work. It was 
your wife's job before we left the house. 

Chief Robber: You do it. Hurry up. 

Second Robber: I ain't doin' no woman's work. 

Chief Robber: Attach that fuse, I tell you! 

Second Robber: No rough talk. 

Chief Robber: How are we going to get the 
money inside there if you don't attach that fuse to 
the stick? 

Second Robber: Maybe we don't gits the swag. 

First Robber (The buzz ceasing again): If 
youse two don't quits the racket, I don't drill, and I 
gits out of 'ere. 

Second Robber: He wants me tu do the job his 
wife oughter done. Would you? 

First Robber: No. What is ut? 



42 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Second Robber: He wants me tuh attach the 
stick and the fuse — would you, pal? 

First Robber : No. He kin send fer his wife. 
(He resumes drilling.) 

Chief Robber: How are we going to get the 
money if you don't join the fuse and the dynamite? 
In God's name tell me that! 

Second Robber: I ain't answerin' no questions. 
I'm standin' on me rights. Attachin' fuses and sticks 
ain't me work. 

Chief Robber: Hand them to me. (Flash-light 
shows that he does so.) Flash on me. I'll attach 
them. (He struggles zvith the material.) How do 
you do it? I don't understand it. 

Second Robber: All you kin do is talk. 

Chief Robber: Show me how to attach these. 

Second Robber: I ain't teachin' no apprentices. 
Too many people in the business now. You might 
quits us and go tuh work fer yourself. 

Chief Robber: You fool! How are we going to 
get the money if you won't do it or show me? 

Second Robber: You promised us the swag be- 
fore daylight. We expects you tuh keep your promise. 
There is two of us and oney one of you. See? 

First Robber (Buzs suddenly ceasing): The hole 
is t'ru. Gimme the stick. 

Chief Robber: The dynamite and the fuse are 
not attached yet. He won't do it. 

First Robber: You do ut. 

Chief Robber: I don't think I understand how. 

First Robber: What are you good fer, if you 
don't understands the work? 



THE BANK ROBBERY 43 

Chief Robber: I direct the work. I don't have 
to understand it. That's what I've got you fellows 
for. My investment, my capital, is my brains. I got 
everything ready — didn't I ? I knew where the money 
was. I arranged the hours. I put you right here, 
next to it. 

Second Robber: Should I do ut, pal? 

First Robber: No. Stands on yer rights. What 
will become of us if we doesn't stands on our rights? 

Second Robber: You ought to brought a fuse- 
attacher along with us, if your wife didn't wants tuh 
do ut. 

First Robber: We'll waits till you can send fer 
a fuse-attacher. 

5econd Robber: Me and me pal strikes till de 
fuse-attacher comes. 

(Footsteps are heard. They come nearer; then die 
away.) 

Chief Robber : He's gone. 

First Robber: Who was ut? 

Chief Robber: Night Watchman, I think. We've 
got to be quiet. If he hears us it's all over. 

First Robber: He might shoot. 

Second Robber: We might have tuh divide the 
swag wid 'im. 

Chief Robber: We haven't got the money yet. 
Don't forget that. Hurry up — (A deep-tongued hell 
begins to strike.) 

First Robber: What's that? (A crash.) 

Chief Robber: What's the matter with you? 

First Robber: I dropped me drill. We're 
cetched. Chief, what'U we do? 



44 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Chief Robber: Be quiet. (The striking of the 
bell ceases. He thro-ws his light over the room.) 
There, it's a clock, standing in the corner. It's four 
o'clock. For the last time, will you attach the fuse? 

Second Robber: I will if I gits fifty per cent, of 
the swag. 

Chief Robber: And him and me together get 
only fifty per cent.? 

Second Robber: Yes. 

Chief Robber (To First Robber): What portion 
do you want? 

First Robber: I wants fifty per cent, too, same 
as me pal. 

Chief Robber: You two fellows are crooks. 
You're thieves. 

Second Robber: If you was one you could do 
somethin' besides talk. 

Chief Robber: Where do I come in? 

Second Robber: After I gits me fifty per cent, 
and me pal gits his fifty per cent., what's over is 
your'n. 

Chief Robber : There can't be anything over if 
each of you gets fifty per cent. 

First Robber: Maybe you'll git more'n us. You 
don't know how much swag is in that safe. We 
stands firm on fifty-fifty. 

(Footsteps are heard again.) 

Chief Robber : Duck ! Lights out ! 

Second Robber : I puts out me light. But I don't 
ducks fer nobody. 

Chief Robber: Be quiet. 



THE BANK ROBBERY 45 

(The steps come nearer, a Hash-light plays over the 
room, and falls on the three robbers.) 

Night Watchman (Covering them with a re- 
volver): Hands up, or I'll shoot! (They raise 
their hands.) 

Chief Robber: Don't shoot. We're not enemies 
of yours. We are enemies of the owner of the money 
in the safe. You don't own the money — do you? 

Night Watchman : No, I don't ; but I'm protect- 
ing it. The first man that drops a hand gets a bullet. 
Come on. 

Chief Robber: You're protecting it? 

Night Watchman: Yes. 

Chief Robber: For how much a week? 

Night Watchman : That's none of your busi- 
ness. Come on. 

Chief Robber: You're ashamed to tell. 

Night Watchman : Well, it ain't very much. 

Chief Robber : That's what I thought. Say, 
Watchman, is your car a Packard or a Winston? Do 
you take your dinner at the Club at two-fifty per 
meal? 

Night Watchman: I ain't got anything to do 
with that talk. 

Chief Robber: Watchman, what is your golf 
score now? And how beautiful and well dressed and 
idle your wife and daughters are! And your son 
blows in a hundred dollars some nights and never 
thinks of it. 

Night Watchman: Keep your hands up. 

Chief Robber: And when are you going to take 



46 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

your family abroad again? That's the life that the 
president of this bank lives. Watchman, you and us 
ain't enemies. We're brothers. But your boss is the 
enemy of all of us. He gets hold of money and he 
locks it up in that safe to keep you and me from 
using it. 

Night Watchman : I've thought of that my- 
self. 

Chief Robber: Put down your gun, brother. 
Join us. Some of the good things in this world are 
meant for you, the same as for your boss. 

Night Watchman: Are you fellows on the 
square ? 
'Chief Robber : Try us. 

Night Watchman : If you're not, God help you! 
I'll shoot the first one of you that goes crooked. 
Hand over your guns first— butts forward. (The 
Chief Robber and the First Robber do so.) 

Second Robber: I won't hand mine over. 

Chief Robber: You fool! Hand it over. 

Night Watchman (Covering him): Hand it 
over — butt first. (To Chief Robber): Shall I shoot, 
if he don't? 

Chief Robber: Yes, shoot. 

First Robber: Hand ut over, pal, you fool! 
(The Second Robber hands over his revolver.) 

Chief Robber: Now, let's hurry. Boys, on what 
condition do we take the Watchman in? 

First Robber: We'll give him fifty per cent, too 
— if that's satisfactory tuh me pal. 

Second Robber: It is. 

Night Watchman (Laying all the revolvers within 



THE BANK ROBBERY 47 

easy reach behind him): But how are you going to 
do it? I've got to pretend to protect the bank. 

Chief Robber: That's easy. After we've got the 
money and given you your part, I'll lay you out a 
little — ^not much — so that when the cashier and the 
others look you over in the morning, you've got some 
blood to show that you made a stand. 

Night Watchman: And when I'm laid out, 
you'll take the money out of my pockets — is that the 
idea? 

Chief Robber: Oh, we wouldn't do a thing like 
that ! That wouldn't be right. 

Night Watchman : I couldn't have the money 
on me anyway. They would notice it. 

Second Robber: We could takes ut tuh your 
woman. 

Night Watchman: I ain't got no wife. 

Second Robber: You ain't got no woman — as 
cheap as women is ! 

First Robber : We could takes ut tuh your mother 
then. 

Night Watchman : What explanation would you 
give her? 

Chief Robber : Great God, boys, let's get to work ! 
It'll soon be light. 

Nigpit Watchman: Have you got her open? 

First Robber: The hole's done drilled. 

Chief Robber (To Second Robber, appealingly): 
Please fasten the fuse. 

Second Robber : Why didn't you say ut that way 
the first time ? (He works rapidly with the dynamite 
stick and the fuse.) 



48 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Chief Robber: We'll have to hurry, boys. I 
think it's getting light. 

Night Watchman : Yes, it's getting light. 

Chief Robber : Watchman, go to the window and 
see if any one is passing. 

First Robber: Give me the stick. (In the light 
of the -Rush, he inserts the slender stick into the hole.) 

Chief Robber: Come on. (All crawl aivay, ivith 
■flashes on the floor.) Any one passing? 

Night Watchman (At zvmdow): No. 

Chief Robber: Let her go. 
. (A match strikes. A small flame crazds over the 
floor. A terrific explosion. And then the still night 
again.) 

Night Watchman : Good God ! That noise — it 
was loud enough to raise the dead ! I'll have to arrest 
you men to save myself. 

Chief Robber: You couldn't hear it half a block 
away. You're not used to it. Remember the money ! 
See anybody outside? 

Night Watchman: No. But hurry up. 

Chief Robber: It's all right, Watchman. Don't 
worry. All here? Anybody hurt? 

First Robber: I'm 'ere. 

Second Robber: Me too. 

(They hasten to the safe and flash their lights upon 
it. The outer door lies on the floor.) 

First Robber: It's got another door inside! 

Night Watchman (Still at window): Hurry! 
It's getting light. 

Chief Robber: Get busy with that drill on the 
inner door. 



THE BANK ROBBERY 49 

First Robber: I ain't doin' all the drillinM 

Night Watchman : Hurry, boys, li the police 
come, rU have to arrest you to save myself. 

Second Robber: Gimme that drill. (He begins 
to di'ill on the inner door. There is the rattle of 
an automobile.) 

Chief Robber: Lights out! Duck! (The auto- 
mobile passes on.) Who was it? 

Night Watchman (Coming to the others): I 
don't know. I couldn't tell. Hurry up. 

Chief Robber: Look! The front door. 

(A Hash-light appears in front, and some one out- 
side tries the door.) 

Second Robber: We're cetched. You're tuh 
blame, Chief. The gang'll git you fer this. 

Night Watchman : That's the Merchant Police- 
man. He's only paid to see if the front door is locked. 
As long as you didn't come in by that door he don't 
care. He's gone anyway. I tell you fellows it's 
getting light. 

Chief Robber: Hurry up. 

Second Robber: (The buzz of the drill is heard 
again.) She'll be t'ru in a minute. Got the stick 
ready ? 

First Robber : Yes. 

Night Watchman : Stop the drill. You can 
pry that inner door open. Lm sure you can. 

First Robber: Get away. (The buzz ceases. 
He pries at the door.) 

Chief Robber (Throwing his light on the door): 
She's giving. 

First Robber: Take a hand on the jimmy, pal. 



50 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

(Both pull on the bar. The door yields — £ies open. 
All four turn their lights into the safe.) 

Chief Robber: My God, men, look! 

First Robber : Piled up like bags of salt. 

Second Robber: Fll hand ut out. (He crawls 
inside and counting, hands out bag after bag, which 
the Chief Robber, also counting, stacks up before the 
opening.) 

Night Watchman: There's money enough to 
make us all comfortable for life. 

First Robber : Hurry up, pal, me hands is 
tremblin'. 

Second Robber: That's all. (He crazuls out, and 
squats immediately in front of the revolvers lying on 
the Hoor.) 

Chief Robber: I'll divide them into four parts. 
The Night Watchman here, who represents the law, 
and me, your boss, your employer, will take half ; and 
you two workers, take the other half. 

Second Robber (Menacingly): Take your hands 
off the swag! What has you done? 

Chief Robber: I've managed this thing — haven't 
I? 

First Robber: You talked, that's all. I agrees 
wid me pal. You ain't done nothing. 

Chief Robber: Didn't I persuade the Watchman 
here to join us? Didn't I show him the Hght, same 
as the big fellows do the police, and the courts ? You 
two ought to be able to understand that. 

Night Watchman : You surely made the thing 
clear to me. (Impatiently) : You fellows will have 
to hurry up. This ain't no time to quarrel. 



THE BANK ROBBERY 51 

Second Robber: Per fixin' the Watchman we 
gives Talker a bag. (He tosses him a bag.) We 
gives a bag to the Watchman fer nothin'. (He tosses 
him a bag.) Me and me pal takes the rest. 

Chief Robber: Nothing Hke that! (Counting.) 
Why, there are ten bags left. 

Night Watchman : Each of you fellows prom- 
ised me half — didn't you? 

Second Robber : That ain't got nothin' tuh do wid 
ut. You gits a bag. Talker gits a bag. And me 
and me pal gits oney what's left. 

Chief Robber : Nothing like that at all ! I'll take 
the bags. (He reaches for them.) 

Second Robber (Covering him with revolver): 
Git back! 

Chief Robber (Retreating): Put that gun down. 
(The Second Robber does so.) 

PiRST Robber : Watchman, what does you say 
about ut? 

Night Watchman: I ain't got anything to do 
with the quarrel between them two. All I say is 
hurry up and give me my share. 

Second Robber: We divides oney the way I 
said. 

First Robber: I agrees wid me pal — fifty-fifty. 

(Outside there is the sudden sputter of an auto- 
mobile. It grows swiftly louder, then ceases suddenly 
in front of the bank. Instantly flash-lights appear at 
the windozvs and doors. At the safe all lights go out. 
There is scuffling. A loud cry is heard, and the noise 
of a body falling. Windows and doors are broken 
open by the persons outside, and several with Hash- 



52 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

lights rush in. They turn on the electric lights. They 
are policemen.) 

Policeman (At safe): Here is one laid out. 

Another Policeman : They've got away. 

Another Policeman (Coming from rear): 
They're gone. 

(Other Policemen, weapons in hand, hasten about 
and in and out.) 

Policeman (At safe): This fellow looks finished. 

(A man in civilian clothes rushes in.) 

The Man: My God, the money! I'm the cashier 
here. 

Policeman (At safe): I don't think they got away 
with it. Here it is. 

The Man : I put twelve bags in the safe this 
afternoon. (He counts them.) Not a bag gone. 
Oh, I'm glad of that! I heard the crash. 

Policeman: Are you the one that notified head- 
quarters ? 

The Man: Yes. 

Policeman: You didn't tell the Desk Sergeant it 
was the bank. 

The Man : I did but he couldn't seem to under- 
stand me. I was excited, I guess. 

Policeman: This one got laid out. 

The Man: That's not a burglar. That's the 
Night Watchman. Poor fellow! I'm sure he did 
his duty. 

(The Night Watchman lifts hi^nself a little, but 
sinks back again. The Man rolls him over, face 
against the wall and puts some books under his head 



THE BANK ROBBERY 53 

to make him more comfortable, meanwhile whisper- 
ing tender words.) 

The Man: Officer, we can't leave this money 
here. The safe is done up. Hadn't we better take it 
to headquarters? 

Policeman : Yes. 

The Man: Will you have the men carry it out 
to the car? 

Policeman (Beckoning two other policemen, who 
come to him): Carry these out to the car. (They 
begin to do so.) 

The Man: Officer, I can't tell you how glad I 
am you've saved the money. 

Policeman : Sure. 

The Man : Why — some of that money belongs to 
wash'women. 

Policeman : Think the Watchman is hurt much ? 

The Man : Can't tell. He was struck on the head. 
He may be out of his head for a while when he comes 
to — say crazy things. They usually do — don't they? 

Policeman : You want any of these books and 
papers in the safe taken along? 

The Man: No. That stuff is all right here. 
(The policemen are carrying out the last bags.) Is 
the driver out there in the car? 

Policeman : Yes. 

(The Man goes out. The engine of the car begins 
to sputter. The sound grozvs a little fainter, then 
ceases suddenly.) 

Policeman : The car has stopped. 

(A sharp report is heard, and immediately the noise 



54 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

of the engine begins again, and diminishes rapidly in 
the distance.) 

Policeman : Blow out ? 

Another Policeman : No. The car had stopped. 

Policeman: Back-fire maybe. 

Another Policeman : Not that sound. Some- 
thing's wrong. 

Night Watchman (Turning): Is he gone? 

Policeman : Yes. 

Night Watchman: You remember he rolled me 
over ? — - 

Policeman : Yes. 

Night Watchman : And put some things under 
my head? — 

Policeman : Yes, yes ! 

Night Watchman : He whispered he would kill 
me if I moved. 

Policeman: The cashier? 

Night Watchman : That ain't the cashier. That's 
the Chief Robber. 

(Consternation.) 

Curtain 



THE DRYAD AND THE DEACON 

A Faerie in One Scene 

By 

William O. Bates 



WILLIAM O. BATES 

William Oscar Bates is a resident of Indianapolis, 
Indiana. After receiving his Ph. B. from Cornell 
University he was engaged for over twenty years in 
newspaper work in Indianapolis, St. Paul and New 
York. 

In later years Mr. Bates has divided his time among 
his real estate interests, trade journalism, and play- 
writing. He is the author of Recitations and How 
to Recite; Our Foreign Correspondent, a four-act 
comedy produced in St. Paul; The Black Bokhara, a 
one-act comedy; and Polly of Pogue's Run, Asaph, 
and Tea, all produced in Indianapolis. 

Mr. Bates was instrumental in establishing the Little 
Theatre Society of Indiana, and was its first secre- 
tary. He is an enthusiastic worker in the Little 
Theatre of Indianapolis, where several of his plays 
have been produced. 

The Indianapolis Centennial Pageant produced in 
1920 is one of the finest of Mr. Bates' works, and has 
given him wide and very favorable recognition in his 
own city. The production of this pageant was one 
of the most notable artistic achievements in the city 
of Indianapolis. 

THE DRYAD AND THE DEACON 

Not every playwright can portray a dryad; Mr. 
Bates has done it here with exquisite delicacy and 
lightness of touch. 

56 



THE DRYAD AND THE DEACON 57 

"The world is too much with us; late and soon, 
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers." 

When do we take time to think and ivonderf Are 
there no fairy creatures in bird and bush and tree? 
We cold, prosaic mortals have eyes that see not and 
ears that hear not. But Deacon Shadrach learned, 
and so may we. 

"Come and trip it as you go 
On the light fantastic toe." 



(Copyrighted. Applications to produce The Dryad and the 
Deacon should be addressed to William O. Bates, 756 Middle 
Drive, Woodruff Place, Indianapolis, Indiana.) 



THE DRYAD AND THE DEACON 

A huge and venerable oak tree stands in the center 
of a wooded glade of New England. In front of the 
tree a little to the right is a large boulder. It is sum- 
mer, about 164^0. 

(Deacon Sitadrach Snow comes in from the left. 
He is a young man of austere countenance and wears 
the conventional Puritan dress, steeple-crown hat, 
cropped hair, and the like. Under one arm he carries 
a copy of the Bay Psalm Book, and on his shoidder is 
a large ax. He advances to the tree, inspects its size, 
walking backzvard and around it, as though calcidat- 
ing its timber possibilities. Then, apparently satisfied 
he lays the ax dozvn at its roofs, goes to the boulder 
and, depositing his book thereon, proceeds to take off 
his coat and roll up his shirt-sleeves. He then, taking 
up the ax, seems about to begin chopping on the tree. 
But, as if remembering a forgotten task, he returns 
to the boulder, seats himself upon it, opens the psalm 
book and finding the page, "lines off" in a high, nasal 
voice the following psalm — marking the time zvith his 
hand, as though in rehearsal for his Sunday service:) 

"The rivers on of Babilon 

there when we did sit down; 
Yet even then wee mourned, when 

wee remembered Sion. 
Our harps we did hang it amid, 
upon the willow tree, 
58 



THE DRYAD AND THE DEACON 59 

Because there they that us away 

led in captivitee, 
Requir'd of us a song, thus 

askt mirth : us waste who laid, 
Sing us among a Sion's song, 

unto us then they said." 

(As he concludes, a strain of soft, elfin music is 
heard. He looks around in surprise, then dismissing 
the matter, turns the pages of his book and again be- 
gins to intone:) 

"Lift up thy foot on hye, 
Unto the desolations 
of perpetuity: — " 

(He is again interrupted, this time by a tinkling as 
of many small bells, follozved by a peal of girlish 
laughter. He starts to his feet in wonder as a door 
in front of the oak tree gently opens and the smiling 
face of The Dryad peeps forth. She is dressed in 
robes of thin, clinging green and amber and wears upon 
her head a chaplet of Hoivers. There are tiny bells 
upon her arms and feet. She nods him a greeting.) 

Deacon : Wherefore, maiden, this strange hiding- 
place ? 

(She puts her finger to her lips in token that she 
must not tell, steps dozvn from, the tree, closing the 
bark door behind her, dances a few steps tozvard him 
and makes him a mocking courtesy.) 

Deacon (Turning away in shocked reproof): And, 
forsooth, wherefore this unseemly attire? 

(She dances around until in front of him once more, 
at zMch he quickly turns again, when she circles and 



60 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

confronts him from the other side. He hides his 
eyes with his hand and speaks with anger.) 

Deacon : Avaunt ! I know thee now ! Thou art 
a witch — sent by Mistress Holbrook to cast a spell 
upon me! But Deacon Shadrach Snow fears not the 
Powers of Darkness. Go away! 

(She tickles his nose with her chaplet, making him 
sneeze, whereat she laughs gleefully.) 

Deacon (Catching up his hook and opening the 
pages toward her): I know to drive thee hence. This 
book of holy psalms, newly imprinted, shall exorcise 
thee, witch ! 

(She catches the hook away from him and dances 
gaily off around the tree, turning the pages as she 
goes. He hurries in pursuit. She eludes him and fin- 
ally tosses him the hook zvhich he presses to his 
hosom.) 

Deacon : Truly thou art a malignant of deep guile 
and subtlety. I will e'en try what a psalm-reading may 
do to curb thy vain demeanor. (He hurriedly finds 
the right page and hegins to intone as hefore.) 

"Lift up thy foot on hye, 
Unto the desolations 
of perpetuity: — " 

(Upon this injunction, she does lift her foot on 
high — whereat he hreaks off to rehuke her.) 

Deacon : Oh, shameless mocker of the sacred text ! 
I will shut thee from my sight. (He holds the hook 
hefore him to carry out this plan, and hegins again:) 

"Lift up thy foot on hye, — " 



THE DRYAD AND THE DEACON 61 

(This time she lifts her foot high enough to kick 
the hook out of his hand.) 

Deacon: Truly, the Psalmist must have had thee 
in mind in writing this holy song. Thou shalt hear 
what he says of thee! (He retakes the hook, and 
seating himself upon the houlder with his hack toward 
her, intones with angry zeal the following:) 

**Lift up thy foot on hye. 
Unto the desolations 

of perpetuity: 
Thy foe within the Sanctuary, 

hath done all lewd designs. 
Amid the Church thy foes doe roare: 

their Banners set for signes." 

(She again starts to lift up her foot, hut seeing it 
will not he noticed, she tiptoes up to him and peers 
over his shoulder at the hook. At the concluding line 
she claps her chaplet upon his head and dances around 
to confront him, again lifting her pertinacious foot. 
He snatches the wreath from his head and throws it 
upon the ground.) 

Deacon : The psalm fits thee truly, witch. Thy 
foot is ever lifted high, thy lewd designs are shown, 
thy tinkling bells do roar and (pointing to wreath)' 
thou fain wouldst set thy banner sign upon me. It 
shall not be! Think not because my name is Snow 
that I am to be melted by thy allurements — I am also 
called Shadrach! I will look no more upon thee! 
(He seats himself anew, hows his head over the hook 
and with time-heating hand seems to hury himself in 
silent rehearsal of his task.) 



62 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

(The Dryad retrieves her wreath, pantomimes her 
scorn of his stoicism, and dances gaily off to lilting 
music, as though dismissing him from her mind. In 
doing so she comes upon the ax at the foot of the 
tree. She examines it, at first with careless curiosity, 
then zvith growing concern, as she looks up at her tree 
and at The Deacon. Finally the full significance of 
its meaning comes upon her and — with a crash of the 
music — she falls at the tree base, clasping its roots 
with outspread arms. The music changes to express 
her grief and alarm. Slowly she rises and, with deep 
dejection, drags herself to The Deacon's feet where 
she kneels and touches him timidly to attract his atten- 
tion. The music here becomes lozv and plaintive.) 

Deacon (Shaking his head zvith determination): 
No, I will heed thee not. Begone — I have work to do ! 

(She again touches him supplicatingly; when he 
looks up she places her wreath before him and, with 
clasped and extended hands, abases her head to his 
feet.) 

Deacon : Oh, thou persistent fiend, what wouldst 
thou? Is this lowly mien but some new trap for my 
soul? 

(Lifting herself she points to the ax with agonized 
inquiry.) 

Deacon : Yea, that is my ax — ^but I thought not 
to strike thee with it. Thy punishment be upon other 
hands than mine. (The music stops.) 

(She shakes her head in token that he has mistaken 
her meaning, and rising seems to supplicate him to go 
unth her. In wondering reluctance, he slowly rises 
and follows her to the tree. Here she points first at 



THE DRYAD AND THE DEACON 63 

the ax and then at the tree zmth anxious inquiry. At 
last he understands.) 

Deacon: Yea, verily, I do purpose to hew down 
this oak tree for the joiners, and thy shameful antics 
but hinder me from this work. 

(She clasps her arms about the tree; then falls upon 
her knees and lifts up her joined hands to him in 
supplication.) 

Deacon: Aha, now, indeed, I do know thee! 
Thou art no common witch — but one of that old 
heathen crew they called Dryads. And this tree is 
thy dwelling-place? (She nods assent.) I thought 
all such were long since gone away. Hast thou not 
shame to harbor in a Christian land who art of Greece 
three thousand years agone? (She hangs her head 
as he looks up at the venerable tree.) And yet thou 
must have been here long before we came? (She 
nods eager assent.) Perhaps even before the red 
Indian? (She nods ''yes.") Thou seemest very 
young to be so old! (She points up at the tree, then 
to herself.) Yea, maiden, I do understand — thy oak 
reneweth his greenery every spring and thy own youth 
therewith ? (She rewards him zmth a dai^zling smile.) 
And when the ax is laid at the root of thy tree, thou 
diest also — so, methinks, runs the pagan legend? 
(Crossing her hands upon her breast, she slozvly sinks 
to her knees before him and bows her head in assent.) 
Nay, have no fear — I find it not in my heart to harm 
thy tree or thee ! (She kisses his hand in gratitude.) 
Moreover, maiden, I would fain save thee from the 
fate that sometime must befall thy earth-born tree. 
Come away from they heathen life and practices to 



64 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

yonder Qiristian settlement where thou may'st learn 
the ways that lead to life perpetual, a life beyond 
the perils and poor satisfactions of this vain world, 
eternal in the Heavens ! There thou may'st be put to 
school, and be given seemly and modest raiment, have 
the admonition and example of pious women, the 
ministrations of the Church, and — who knows? — in 
lime thou might'st even be thought worthy to become 
the wedded wife of some grave and godly man! 

(The Dryad listens to this exhortation, at first with 
puzzled wonder, then with demure deference, finally 
zvith elfin glee. She bursts into a peal of mocking 
laughter, springs to her feet and, to madly vivid 
music, goes careening about in wildly exuberant re- 
jection of The Deacon's program, catching up his hat 
and setting it aslant upon her own head as she whirls 

(He watches her a few moments in sorrowful as 
tonishment, then goes slowly back to the bouldef 
tuhere he proceeds to put on his coat and retake hu 
book. Noting his preparation to depart, she takes his 
hat in her extended hands and, pirouetting across, 
offers it to him with mischievous meekness. The 
music stops.) 

Deacon : Alas, thou poor, vain butterfly, it doth 
grieve me sorely to see thee so light-minded when 
thou might'st hope for a sanctified soul in that fair 
body of thine! (She crosses her hands upon her 
breast and bows demurely.) Shall I ever see thee 
more? (She thinks a moment, then slozvly shakes 
her head.) I fear me that is well, for the banns have 
been asked that I should wed a devout young woman, 
and though her name be Patience, she might misin- 



THE DRYAD AND THE DEACON 65 

terpret my zeal for thy conversion — and she lacketh 
thy slowness of speech. (She gives him a look of 
arch inquiry.) But it can not harm her — or thee — 
that thou shouldst receive my blessing before we part. 
Kneel, maiden ! (She does so and he places his hands 
upon her head in solemn invocation.) May the Lord 
bless thee, and keep thee, and make His face to shine 
upon thee, and give thee peace ! Amen ! Now go 
thy ways and I will go mine! 

(The Dryad rises slozvly and recoils from him a 
few steps, with a look of wide-eyed zvonder, as 
though dimly comprehending the meaning of his 
words. Then, suddenly coming to herself, with whirl- 
ing arms and fast-Hying feet, she breaks into a bac- 
chanalian dance, wheeling in frenzied circles to wildly 
joyous music until she finds herself in front of her 
tree. The music breaks off abruptly; the door opens 
behind her; she steps backward into the tree, and, 
with a last, lingering smile upon The Deacon, the door 
shuts her from his sight. 

(He picks up his hat and book and goes, very 
slowly, to the tree. Here he stands a moment, his 
back to the audience, then falls prone upon the ground, 
clasping the tree roots in his arms, his shoidders heav- 
ing with convulsive sobs. A faint and far-away 
tinkling of tiny bells is heard as the curtain gently 
closes down.) 



IN THE LIGHT OF THE MANGER 

A Prophetic Fantasy in One Act 

By 

William O. Bates 



IN THE LIGHT OF THE MANGER 

In the Light of the Manger illustrates what the 
one-act play can do in the way of creating that illu- 
sive, artful something called emotional atmosphere. 
The author relies upon the dialogue alone for effect. 
This often consists of only bri^f questions, answers 
and exclamations, but foreboding, fear, wonder and 
mystery are subtly suggested by this elliptical form. 



(Copyrighted. Application to produce In the Light of the 
Manger should be addressed to William O. Bates, 756 Middle 
Drive, Woodruff Place, Indianapolis, Indiana.) 



68 



IN THE LIGHT OF THE MANGER 

THOSE REPRESENTED: 

A Mother A Daughter 

^ Son a Babe 

A Roman Soldier 

The interior of a humble Bethlehem home in the 
days of Herod the King discloses at the right a com- 
partment for cattle, the demi-arch over it surmounted 
by steps leading to an upper room concealed behind 
dark curtains, its floor, showing a narrow platform in 
front of the curtains, being some five feet above the 
level of the apartment. The outer entrance, m^de of 
rude boards, gives into the place for cattle, and oppo- 
site this door is a manger zvhich now serves as a bed 
for a sleeping infant. There is a primitive dais at 
the left upon which are bedclothes. Dried fruits are 
suspended from rough rafters, also a hanging lamp 
lighting the night but dimly. All the appointments 
and costumes are archaic. 

The Mother and the Daughter, a girl of sixteen, are 
seated opposite each other on the Hoor at the right, 
grinding at a handmill and crooning a mournful 
lullaby. 

Mother (Pausing and glancing toward the man- 
ger): How soundly he sleeps! It does not seem 
quite natural. 

Daughter: Nay, mother, he is always quiet. 
69 



70 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Mother: Yes, I know. Both you and brother 
were restless, but he is different. 

Daughter (Rising): Should he not be different, 
he who was born on the same night with the Blessed 
Child? 

Mother: Speak not of that, beloved! At times 
I almost wish it had not been so — it seems too much 
honor. 

Daughter: But brother was with the shepherds 
on that wonderful night and heard the Wise Men say 
no harm can come to any who then saw His face. 

Mother: How could the Wise Men know that? 

Daughter: How should they have seen His star 
in the East and how escaped the wiles of Herod? 
God spoke to them in dreams and they understood. 

Mother: I hope it may be so but I am glad 
brother sleeps in the upper room to-night. I am 
strangely ill at ease. 

Daughter: Confess, now! You are still think- 
ing of that wild story. King Herod seeks to slay 
the Blessed Child? 

Mother: Yea, daughter. Herod is a hard and 
cruel king. I do fear him. 

Daughter: But only a monster would order all 
the babes slain because of one. And what should a 
great king dread from a little child? 

Mother: Herod's family came from Edom, of a 
race suspicious and revengeful, like their forefather 
Esau. Did he not kill his benefactor, Hyrcanus, and 
his own beautiful wife, Mariamne, and three of his 
own sons. (Lowering her voice.) And now, when he 
is grown old, our neighbor tells me he has ordered 



IN THE LIGHT OF THE MANGER 71 

that all the nobles shall die when he dies that there 
may be mourning in the land because of him. 

Daughter: Yet he built the magnificent temple 
at Jerusalem, and has given the land many other great 
buildings and splendid new cities. 

Mother: And the land is full of hatred and fear 
of a king who cringes to Rome and rules Judea with 
a scepter dipped in blood. 

Daughter: Yes, I know, and yet— (She listens.) 
Did you now hear him stir? 

Mother: Go and see whether he wakens! (The 
girl goes to the manger, rearranges the infant's cover- 
ing and kisses him lightly.) 

Daughter (Returning): He sleeps as sweetly as 
though guarded by legions of angels. 

(The sound of a trumpet, faint and far away, is 
heard. Mother and daughter look at each other 
startled and speak in terrified whispers.) 
Mother (Rising): What was that? 
Daughter: It sounded like a trumpet. 
Mother: It was a trumpet — soldiers abroad at 
night! Call brother! He will go and see. 

Daughter: But, mother, he must replace father 
in the fields at midnight and needs his rest. Let me 
go! 

Mother: Hasten, then, but return quickly! 
(The girl szviftly covers herself with a dark cloak 
and darts out, while the mother goes to the manger 
and taking the sleeping babe in her arms hurries to 
the foot of the steps over the arch just as the son^ a 
youth of seventeen, parts the curtains of the upper 
room and steps out in front of them.) 



72 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Mother (Speaking in a whisper): Did you hear 
it — the trumpet? 

Son : No, mother, I heard no trumpet, but a 
trumpet call is no cause for alarm. It is near the 
hour when they change guards. 

Mother: But you know they say Herod means 
to kill all Bethlehem babes to make sure he slays the 
Son of Joseph and Mary. 

Son : And shall not the Son of Joseph and Mary 
protect His own ? Mother, mother, do you fear Herod 
more than you believe in God? 

Mother: Alas, I believe in God when I can — 
and fear Herod when I must. 

Son (Descending the steps and caressing the 
babe): Shall He who chose a human mother forget 
how human mothers yearn? 

Mother: You feel quite sure no harm can come 
to our beloved? 

Son : Mother, I will not fear for this precious 
little brother, born on the selfsame night when I 
heard the angel say, *'Fear not!" and with my own 
eyes saw the New-born over whom the skies sang 
"Peace on earth." 

Daughter (Rushing in, breathless and gasping in 
terror): The soldiers are coming — their dreadful 
work has begun! 

Mother (Starting toward the door): We must 
flee to the caves. 

Daughter: Too late — they are already in the 
street — I heard the cry of our neighbor's child! 

Mother (Falling upon her knees): Oh, what 
shall we do — where shall we go? 



IN THE LIGHT OF THE MANGER IZ 

Son : Go into the upper room ! I will meet 
them. 

Mother: But you have no weapon. They will 
kill you, too! 

Son: "Fear not!" (He lifts his mother to her 
feet as she hurries up the steps with the babe and 
disappears behind the curtains just as there sounds a 
loud trumpet note and a tumult of clashing arms 
ivithout. The son silently urges his sister to follow 
her mother up the stairs, and she tries to obey but is 
so overcome with terror that she staggers and makes 
but slow ascent. There is an imperious knock upon 
the door zvhich, a moment later, is thrown open by a 
burly Roman soldier in glittering armor, a blood- 
stained sword suspended about his neck. He enters 
in time to see the girl pass behind the curtains.) 

Soldier: Is there a babe in this house? 

Son: You see. 

Soldier (Starting toward the steps): I will see. 

Son (Quietly interposing): Wherefore? 

Soldier: It is Herod's order all Bethlehem babes 
shall be slain. 

Son: Again, wherefore? 

Soldier: I know not — nor care. Some say cer- 
tain soothsayers have told him one has been born here 
who shall be king of the Jews. He is king of the 
Jews. 

Son : That was spoken of the Son of Joseph and 
Mary. But they have taken Him away to Egypt. 
Besides these Wise Men, whom you call soothsayers, 
said two thousand years must pass before the Jews 
again govern in Judea. 



74 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Soldier: It may be so. I am not here to judge 
but to execute judgment. 

Son: But when your time comes to be judged, 
think you God will forgive you the murder of the 
innocent because you did the will of Herod? 

Soldier: He speaks for the gods — let him answer 
to them! 

Son : Can any god desire the blood of babes ? 

Soldier: Let those who anger and oppose Herod 
beware when the innocent sufTer. If he is terrible to 
those w^ho have done no wrong, how much more 
should they fear him who have thwarted his will! 

Son : But when the Son of Joseph and Mary was 
born I heard the angels sing, *' Peace on earth — good 
will to men." What has Herod to fear from one who 
brings peace and good will? 

Soldier: I know naught of angels. My business 
is war — not peace. 

Son : The Wise Men said also there would be no 
need of legions or war chariots to uphold the new 
kingdom — that the great God would be its supporter 
and shield. 

Soldier: The gods of Rome are gods of war, and 
fight ever on the side of the strongest legions. 

Son: Have you not read in the Song of Deborah 
that "the stars in their courses fought against Sisera" ? 

Soldier: What have I to do with your Deborah 
and your Sisera? 

Son : This, soldier ! Because Sisera's king was 
like your king, and every other ruler who trusts in 
force alone. He had nine hundred chariots of iron 
and he mightily oppressed the children of Israel, until 



IN THE LIGHT OF THE MANGER 75 

they shunned jhe highways and forsook their villages, 
and in war he divided the spoil ; to every man a damsel 
or two, and to Sisera a prey of divers colors. But 
Deborah spoke to Barak: *'Arise, Barak, and lead 
thy captivity captive !" and Sisera was overthrown and 
died by the treachery of a woman he thought to have 
made a traitor. Let all who trust in blood and iron 
and treachery remember Jael who smote her tent nail 
into Sisera's temples! 

Soldier : Have done with your Hebrew romances ! 
(Two short trumpet blasts sound without.) You 
hear — they call me ! Out of my way — I must do my 
work! 

Son : One moment, more, I beseech you ! Have 
you no child of your own? 

Soldier: I have a son, but if Herod called for 
his head my own would have to answer for it. 

Son : Soldier, would you not fall upon your own 
sword rather than turn its edge against your son? 

Soldier: By Jupiter, boy, you should yourself 
feel my sword's edge for that stroke. 

Son : Let it fall upon me, then, rather than upon 
this helpless babe! 

Soldier: Fool, your death would not save its life. 
(Three short trumpet blasts are heard.) Stand aside, 
lest you die in vain! 

Son (Boldly): Not yet! The Wise Men, whose 
report Herod heeds, said yet more. They said no 
harm could come to the Holy Child or to any who 
had looked upon His face that first night — that all 
such would be protected by the God who declared, 
"My sword shall be bathed in Heaven ; behold, it shall 



76 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

come down upon Edom and upon the people of my 
curse to judgment." Herod is of Edom — let him and 
you who serve him dread the sword of the King of 
Kings ! 

Soldier: (Wresting his sword from his neck and 
whirling the hoy out of his path): Confide you in 
your Wise Men and the sword of your *'King of 
Kings!" My reliance shall be this good sword of 
Herod. (The soldier starts up the steps of the arch. 
There comes a crash of thunder and the light goes out 
suddenly. s Then through the curtain is seen rank ris- 
ing upon rank, a pyramid of white-robed angels with 
uplifted swords above the mother kneeling with the 
babe in her arms. The swords sink in unison until 
they point at the soldier's breast. He reels and falls 
backward, his sword clanging to the floor. An in- 
visible chorus sings, "Peace on earth," while the vision 
gradually fades away and the front light returns.) 

Soldier (Staggering to his feet): Lead me forth! 
My eyesight is gone. (The boy leads him out. A 
moment later the trumpet again sounds, and the boy 
returns as the mother and daughter come out upon 
the platform. All fall upon their knees in thanks- 
giving while faint and far azvay the invisible chorus 
again is heard.) 

Curtain 



PHOEBE LOUISE 

A One- Act Play 

By 

Bernard Sobel 



BERNARD SOBEL 

Bernard Sobel received his B. S. from Purdue Uni- 
versity, his Ph. B. from the University of Chicago, 
and his M. A. from Wisconsin University. He was 
formerly Assistant-Professor of English at Purdue 
University; also Lecturer on Modern Drama for Indi- 
ana University. He is now a member of the Faculty 
of the College of the City of New York. Mr. Sobel 
has specialized in publicity and was Director of 
Opportunities, in charge of all western publicity for 
the Professional Division of the United States Em- 
ployment Service. He is now Press Representative 
for Earl Carroll and the Earl Carroll Theatre, New 
York City. 

Mr. Sobel's printed writings include *'How Do They 
Do It," Photoplay Magazine, "The School-Teacher 
in Literature," Educational Issues, (reprinted in The 
Literary Digest) ; "What's Wrong With the Movies," 
"Actors Who Are Hidden," "The English Players," 
"Publicity and The Truth," "A Constellation of 
Stars," The Theatre Magazine; "Sam H. Harris and 
the Three T's," "Child Actors," Success Magazine; 
"The Little Theatre in the West," Christian Science 
Monitor; "A Census of Desserts," "Side-lines of a 
Bootblack," "Living Images," "Curtain Calls and 
Curtain Speeches," New York Tribune Sunday Maga- 
zine; "We Can Dance," "The Stage Mother," "The 
Stage Door Man," Dramatic Mirror; "The Green 
Room," Pantomime ; "The Civil Engineer," The Road 

78 



PHOEBE LOUISE 79 

Maker; "The Earl Carroll Theatre," Arts and Deco- 
rations; "The Right to Life in Modern Drama," 
South Atlantic Quarterly; "Puffing the Piano," Car- 
toons; "The Immortal" (with Carl Click), a one-act 
play. Poet Lore ; "Before and After," a one-act play. 
The White Way; "Pageant Possibilities," Mississippi 
Valley Historical Quarterly. Book reviews and 
dramatic criticism for The Dial, The Theatre, The 
Spotlight, The Electrical World, etc., Phoebe Louise, 
produced by the Indianapolis Little Theatre; The 
Spider Web, produced by the Hull House Players, 
Cheer Up and There^s Always a Reason, one-act 
plays produced by the English Players, Purdue Uni- 
versity. 

PHOEBE LOUISE 

This play is distinctly modern in theme. The 
Burkes are all interesting studies: Julius and Mamie 
are representative of the shrewd Yankee one often 
meets. Lydia "sets off" her elders clearly, possess- 
ing an appalling combination of her parents' char- 
acteristics as well as some distinctive traits of her 
own. Her disconcerting questions are responsible for 
much of the humor of the play. 



(Copyrighted. Applications to produce Phoebe Louise 
should be addressed to Professor Sobel, the Lyric Theatre, 
Forty-Second Street, near Broadway, New York City.) 



PHOEBE LOUISE 

CHARACTERS 

Julius Burke. 
Mamie Burke, his wife. 
Lydia, their eight-year-old child. 
A Girl nineteen years of age. 

Scene : A luxurious_ livi^ 
home. Everything is of the best. There is a general 
atmosphere of comfort and convenience. There is a 
door at the rear of the room (left) which leads to the 
street and a door at the right which leads to Lydia^s 
bedroom. Mrs. Burke is crocheting. Lydia is play- 
ing with her dolls at the center of the stage. Mt-^ 
Burke, in an easy chair (right), is reading the ^lews- 
paper. He wears slippers. His coat is hanging on 
the back of his chair. The gold watch chain hanging 
across his vest is very prominent. At the left of the 
center is a table, with books, a lamp and a desk tele- 
phone. As the curtain rises, Lydia is talking. 

Lydia: Oh, mother. 

(Mamie, disregarding her, continues with her 
work.) 

Lydia (Throwing her dolls aside): Mother, I 
want to ask you something. 

80 



PHOEBE LOUISE 81 

Mamie (Finally): Well, what is it? Do you 
really have to ask this question? Is it so important 
that you have to disturb me? 

Lydia: Yes. It's very important. 

Mamie: Then, let's hear it right away and get it 
over. What is it, Lydia ? 

Lydia: Please tell me the exact time. 

Mamie (Glancing at her watch): It is now a 
quarter of eight. 

Lydia: Then how much longer will we have to 
wait for Phoebe Louise? 

Mamie: About ten minutes, if the train is on time. 

Lydia: And if the train is late, how long will we 
have to wait? 

Mamie: That depends. 

Lydia: Depends on how late the train will be? 

Mamie : Exactly. 

Lydia: Do you think the train will be late? 

Mamie: I don't know, Lydia. How can I tell? 

Lydia: But can't you even guess? 

Julius (Exasperated, and throwing aside his 
paper): No, she can't, Lydia, and I wish that you 
would stop a few of those senseless questions so that 
I could read the paper. There's a story here about a 
shrewd woman thief ; she's been going around town — 

Mamie: Yes, I know, but you don't have to be 
so cross with the child, Julius. It is only natural that 
she would be interested in a cousin whom she has 
never seen. 

Julius: Well, it's not Lydia I'm cross with, — 
exactly. It's Judge Henry Blocker. 

Mamie: What has the judge done now? 



82 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Julius: Oh, nothing. But I just want to say 
that if we should lose a thousand dollars, we can 
blame it on that old fossil. 

Mamie: A thousand dollars! Why, how could 
Judge Blocker cause you — 

Julius: Oh, nothing. It's a matter of business; 
you couldn't understand. (He takes up his paper 
again.) Now, Lydia, my child, be a good little girl. 

Lydia: I will, father. But I wish that Phoebe 
would come. I'm dying to see her. (She is silent 
for a moment, then runs over to her mother.) 
Mother, what do you think Phoebe Louise will be 
like? Are cousins like other relatives? Father told 
me that — 

Mamie: What did your father tell you? 

Lydia: He said that she would — 

Mamie: Your father doesn't know any more 
about her than I do and I only know her by name. 
He never saw her. He never saw her mother, and 
he hasn't seen her father in more than twenty-one 
years. I wish that we did know more about her. 
This idea of bringing a complete stranger to live with 
us has completely upset me. We'll have to change 
our whole method of living. 

Lydia: Will we have dessert every day? 

Mamie: Heavens, no! Dessert is an extrava- 
gance, and you know what your father thinks about 
extravagance. 

Lydia: Yes, but you have dessert when we have 
company and Phoebe Louise will be company. 

Mamie: No, she won't, and the sooner she learns 
that the better. She won't be company because she's 



PHOEBE LOUISE 83 

a relative. But that doesn't mean that we won't be 
good to her. Remember that, Lydia, we must be 
very good to her and love her. 

Julius (Throwing down his paper): Yes, indeed, 
we must. We must love her and treat her the best 
way we know how. She's my brother's only child and 
my only living relative and I want to show her how 
much I think of her (taking out his watch.) I wish 
that she were here now so that I could tell her how 
welcome she is. 

Mamie: You're mighty generous, Julius. 

Julius: I can afford to be. I'm well-to-do, — ■ 
successful. I want to live and let live. JKnd I want 
her to know how I feel, — at once. First impressions 
are the strongest. 

Mamie: We always do our part by those who 
need help, don't we. 

Julius: We beheve in dividing, of course, but 
this is a special case. Phoebe Louise belongs to our 
own family. We must make a special effort from 
the very moment she reaches here. I don't want her 
to feel lonesome or unhappy a second. As soon as 
she comes make a fuss over her. Don't let her feel 
strange. Make her feel perfectly at home. Lydia, 
you run up to her and kiss her, and, Mamie, you and 
I will do the same. 

Mamie: What if she should say that — 

Julius: Don't give her a chance to say anything. 
Just welcome her. Take her things. Give her the 
easy chair and make her happy. If she's not too 
tired after traveling we'll devise some means of 
entertainment. 



84 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Mamie: That sounds a little extravagant, dear. 

Julius: Never mind. This once we'll do things 
handsomely. 

Lydia (Dancing around): Goody, goody, we'll 
have a dessert every day! 

Mamie: Hush, child. Don't be silly. To hear 
her talk, a person would think that she didn't have 
all she wants. Don't you think, Julius, that you had 
better put on your coat and shoes? 

Julius: No, indeed. There's no need being 
formal with one's relative. Now, Lydia, you won't 
forget to do that — (The bell rings.) There she is 
now. (They rush to the door and open it, all talk- 
ing at once. They scarcely give the new arrival a 
chance to pass, so demonstrative are they in their 
welcome. She carries a suit-case and looks tired. 
Lydia, true to directions, has thrown her arms around 
her and kissed her and, while the others salute her, 
she talks and hugs her. Meanwhile, by degrees, they 
get her seated and slowly relieve her of her hat, coat 
and bag. All talk at one time.) 

Mamie: Now we want you to feel perfectly at 
home. Perfectly. And be sure to do just as you 
wish and, and — 

Lydia: And we're going to have dessert every 
day, every single day. Aren't we, mother? 

Mamie: Of course we will, Lydia; that is, if 
Phoebe cares enough about sweets to have them every 
day. Now take her hat, Lydia, and put it where it 
belongs and then take her furs, and don't let them 
drag on the floor. That's it. Now, Phoebe, as I said 
we want you to feel perfectly at home. 



PHOEBE LOUISE 85 

Julius (Rubbing his hands, characteristically) : 
Yes, Phoebe Louise, you are my brother's only child 
and my only living kin and I want to do the right 
thing by you, — handsomely. It's twenty years since 
I've seen your father. 

Lydia (Interrupting) : Why, father, you said 
twenty-one, before. 

Julius: That's right. It's twenty-one years since 
I've seen your father and I've never seen you at all. 
But I want to say that I would have known you in a 
minute. You are the very image of him. Every 
gesture, every movement, is just like his were. 

Lydia: How can you remember so well, father? 

Julius : One doesn't forget one's brothers, my 
child ; that is (embarrassed), one doesn't forget, at 
least, what they look like. It seems like a day since 
we were together. We quarreled over a matter of 
business. I don't wish to speak ill of the dead, but 
he was in the wrong. 

Mamie: Julius! How can you? 

Julius: I beg your pardon, Phoebe Louise, I 
meant no ofifense. You see our difficulty grew out of 
a matter of money. I was managing the business as 
I saw fit and doing well too, but he wouldn't cooper- 
ate ; so we parted. I kept the business and have been 
rather successful, but he failed to prosper. 

Lydia: I thought you said he was poor, daddy. 

Julius : He was. That's what "failed to prosper" 
means, my child. I have always (explaining) be- 
lieved in taking time to explain a new term to a child. 
Well, as I said, let the dead past bury its dead. It 
will be our pleasant duty now to look after you. 



86 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Mama (to Mamie), what entertainment have you pro- 
vided for our niece? What are we going to do this 
evening ? 

Lydia : Can I go 'long ? 

Julius: We haven't decided yet where we are 
going. Besides Httle children are not expected to go 
out after dinner. What are your plans, mama? 

Mamie: I thought that we would go to the 
theatre or to the roof garden, but (as the girl seems 
about to protest) she looks tired, don't you think? 
(Goes over to her and caresses her.) I'm afraid you 
are too tired to dress up for the roof garden after 
your long trip. Traveling tires me too, unless I take 
a chair car, and though a chair car is an extrava- 
gance, I always take one to avoid getting a headache. 

Julius: But, Mamie, you're not answering my 
question. If we're not going to the roof garden, we 
could go to the theatre. She wouldn't have to dress 
up much to go to the Alhambra. 

Mamie: All right, dear, call up for the seats. 
(Julius starts for the telephone.) 

Lydia: But, papa, you can't go to the Alhambra. 

Julius: Why not, Lydia? 

Lydia : Because — 

Julius (Impatiently): Yes? 

Lydia: You said — 

Julius: Well, what is it? 

Lydia: But, papa — 

Julius: Yes. Hurry up. Why can't I go there? 

Lydia: When you called them up this afternoon, 
you said that they had only parquet seats. 

Julius: Yes, yes (embarrassed). But what of 



PHOEBE LOUISE 87 

that, Lydia? Hurry up, dear, so that I can 
call up. 

Lydia (Elaborately) : Well, you said that you 
wouldn't go in parquet seats because they are an ex- 
travagance. 

Julius: By George, that's right. I was unable 
to get seats when I called up before. I had forgotten 
completely. Why didn't you remind me, Mamie? 

Mamie: I should think that you would be able 
to remember yourself whether you had called up or 
not. You know I'm not responsible for everything. 
It wasn't my plan to go to the theatre. 

Julius: That's right. I'm in the wrong again. 
I'm always in the wrong. 

Mamie: I didn't say that. What I said was — 

Lydia : Mama. 

Mamie: What now, Lydia? 

Lydia: If you are not going to the theatre and 
you're not going to the roof garden, where are you 
going? How are you going to entertain Cousin 
Phoebe Louise? 

Mamie: We might go riding in the machine. I 
think that would rest her and do us all good. What 
do you think of that, Julius? 

Julius: Excellent, dear. But I'm sorry that 
Jones has made other arrangements. It's his night 
off, you know, and he has put up the machine. 

Lydia: Can't you drive, daddy? Please drive 
and take me along. 

Julius: Daddy's tired, Lydia, and besides, with 
gasoline where it is these days, I feel that night 
driving is really an extravagance. 



88 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Lydia: Oh, dear, oh, dear, I can't do anything. 
(She begins to cry and they strive to comfort her.) 

Julius: There, there, baby. Don't cry. If you 
stop, we'll get you some ice-cream, a great big dish. 

Lydia (She stops crying): May I have chocolate? 

Julius : Certainly. What will you have, mama ? 

Mamie: None for me, thanks. You know it 
doesn't seem to be agreeing with me lately. But order 
some for the rest. I'm sure that will refresh Phoebe 
Louise. 

Julius: No, Mamie, vre won't do that. If you 
don't care for any, we v/on't take any. To-morrow, 
though, we'll take Lydia down-town and buy her a 
great big hot chocolate fudge, instead. How would 
you like that, dear? (Lydia dances, then she takes his 
hand and they dance together. Mamie sings and 
keeps time unth her hands.) 

Julius: (As he wipes his forehead): I tell you, 
there's no place like home. I think we'll just stay 
home to-night and have a nice family talk. You, 
Mamie, I want to give a deep consideration to Phoebe 
Louise's affairs, and the present is just as good a time 
as any. » 

Mamie: Who was that marriageable Mr. Lemuel 
you were talking about, Julius? 

Lydia: I thought you said he had something the 
matter with his foot. 

Julius: I did indeed, but that's merely tempo- 
rary. He's a very pleasant fellow, I tell you. Perhaps 
we'll be able to have him down soon. In the m.ean- 
while, — • 

Mamie: In the meanwhile — 



PHOEBE LOUISE 89 

Julius: Yes, in the meanwhile she must be pro- 
vided for, — provided for; that is, in some way. I 
know (to the girl) you are too independent to want 
to live off your relatives. Yes, (contimiing without 
giving her a chance to respond) I know that you are 
too much like your father to want to be dependent. 
I can see that in every feature. Your eyes are just 
exactly like his. 

Mamie: We can be very helpful to you. Your 
Uncle Julius has a tremendous influence. He is on 
intimate terms with Henry Blocker of the First 
National Bank. 

Julius: Not that old fool Judge Henry Blocker. 
He's not in the bank. It's Samuel Blocker. 

Mamie : Samuel Blocker, then. There will be no 
need of your worrying about your clothes being a 
trifle shabby, because I have an old coat that could 
be cleaned and pressed to look just like new. 

Lydia: But, mother, why can't — I want to know 
why can't she live with us all the time? 

Julius: Well (coughing), why — a — simply — be- 
cause 

Lydia (Starts to cry again): I suppose that's an 
extravagance too. I think it's a shame. I want to 
have Phoebe. (Cries hard. They strive to soothe 
her. The hell rings.) 

Mamie : Who can that be ? I hope it's not a guest. 
I haven't a thing in the house. (The hell rings again. 
Julius goes to the door and comes hack carrying a 
large package, decorated with sprigs of holly. Mamie 
and Lydia crowd around the table as he unwraps it. 
Finally, he discloses an elaborate silver tea-set with 



90 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

complete accessories. They gasp with admiration and 
Lydia claps her hands.) 

Mamie (Finally) : Who sent it ? (There is a 
scramble for the card.) 

Julius (Finds it and reads): "Holiday greetings 
from Judge and Mrs. Henry Blocker." 

Mamie: What a beautiful Christmas spirit! I've 
been dying for a new tea-set. How lovely of them, — 
so thoughtful. They certainly spared no expense. 
And here you've been calling the Judge an old fool. 

Lydia: What are you going to give them? 

(There is an abrupt silence and then Julius solemly 
repeats) : That's the question. What are we going to 
give them? 

Mamie: It will have to be something elaborate to 
compensate for that. 

Lydia: What does "compensate" mean, mother? 

Mamie: I used the wrong word. I mean recipro- 
cate. 

Julius : Yes, indeed, it will cost us a pretty penny. 
Can't you think of something, Mamie? 

Mamie: Can't you? You are always so ingenius. 

Julius (Absorbed) : How would a beautiful lamp do ? 

Mamie: Can you get one wholesale? 

Julius: I think so, if I call up Macpherson. 

Mamie: This is a bad time. He may not like to 
be called up at his home, after business hours. 

Julius: Perhaps we won't have to send anything 
so expensive anyway. Haven't you something about 
the house? 

Mamie: Let me see. Christmas presents are a 



PHOEBE LOUISE 91 

nuisance. I have that Httle alcohol lamp that the 
Smiths sent me last year from Wisconsin. 

Julius: The very thing, — but is it enough? 

Mamie: You could send that to Judge Blocker 
and I could send a piece of handwork to his wife. 
The two presents would look rather pretentious. 

Julius: Good! You're a very clever wife, 
Mamie. 

Mamie: That is, if I have any on hand. Lydia, 
bring me my embroidery box. (Lydia goes at once.) 
It seems to me that I had a handsome table cover put 
away and if it's there, it will be just the thing. (Lydia 
returns with the box and Mamie searches it hastily.) 
Sure enough, here it is. But it's not quite finished. 
What shall I do? There's at least an hour's work 
here and I'll have to get it there right away so that 
they won't think that we waited to get their gift first. 
(Thinks a moment.) I know. Phoebe, you crochet, 
don't you? All girls do nowadays. Here, won't you 
be good enough to finish out these few scallops of the 
border while I do the ends? (Begins instructing her.) 
You see, you take ten stitches here : go back nine ; 
herring stitch twice and then overcast. Quite easy. 
That's right. (Watches her approvingly and then 
goes over to admire the tea-set.) It's handsome. 
How could you say that the Judge is an old fool? 
You certainly never did understand men. 

Julius (Annoyed): Never did understand men. 
Well, I know a business man w^hen I see one. The 
Judge doesn't know any more about business than a 
child. See what he did. (Rushes over to chair and 



92 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

takes purse out of his coat pocket.) See what he did, 
seeing you know so much about business. He met 
me down-town this afternoon and paid me the money 
he owed me in spot cash. There it is (opening purse) 
one thousand dollars in spot cash. You'd think he 
had never heard of a check. The old farmer ! 

Mamie (Startled): Good heavens, Julius, how 
much is it? I'm afraid to have you carry so much. 

Julius: Nonsense. It's only a little over eleven 
hundred dollars. 

Mamie : Why didn't you put it in the bank ? 

Julius: I told you just now that he gave it to me 
this evening, after the bank was closed. You know 
I'm not a baby. It isn't the first time I've carried a 
little money. (He returns the purse to the coat 
pocket.) You don't need to worry. If you'll excuse 
me now, I'll go on with my paper. (Sits down and 
begins to read.) 

Lydia (Tosses doll across room in a rage): Now 
what am I going to do? Mama's working and 
Phoebe's working. What am I going to do? 

Mamie: You're going to bed, young lady. (Takes 
her by the hand and leads her off zvhile Lydia shrieks 
and continues to shriek.) 

Mamie (Finally calling from the other room): 
Julius, come here. I can't do a thing with her, Julius. 

Julius (Exasperated, pitches paper on to the floor): 
That child is a nuisance. (Rushes into other room.) 

(The sound of Lydias crying mingles with the 
voices of Mamie and Julius. Meanzvhile the girl rises, 
looks cautiously about, runs over to the coat and takes 
out the money. She removes several bills zvhich she 



PHOEBE LOUISE 93 

places in an envelope. SJie addresses the envelope, 
puts a stamp on it and places it tinder the dictionary. 
Then she writes a note, places it in a conspicuous 
place, near the telephone. She is about to make a 
hasty retreat zvhen Mamie calls suddenly from the 
other room: ''Phoebe, oh, Phoebe.'' She waits 
breathless a moment. Then Mamie calls again: 
"Don't bother. It's all right." The girl rushes out of 
the room. There is silence for a few seconds and 
then Mamie reenters.) 

Mamie: How are you getting along, Phoebe? 
(Not seeing her): Phoebe, where are you? Phoebe 
Louise. Julius! Lydia! Come quickly. She's gone. 
Hurry up. 

Julius : What's happened ? Who's gone ? 

Mamie: Phoebe Louise. She's gone. 

Julius: Well, what of it? A good riddance, Pd 
say. 

Mamie: What of it? But your, — your — 

Julius: By jove! (Rushes over to his coat. 
Searches it wildly.) It's gone. My pocketbook. It's 
gone. She's robbed us. 

Mamie: Good heavens! Call the police. We 
might catch her. Hurry! 

Julius (Rushes over to the telephone. He sees the 
note): What's this? (Opens it quickly.) Here's a 
message. 

Mamie : Read it ! 

Julius (Savagely) : Give me time. (Puts on his 
glasses and reads) : "You have both made a big mis- 
take. I am not Phoebe Louise and I never saw Phoebe 
Louise. I am simply — " 



94 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Mamie: Good heavens! What did I tell you? 
How could you be so careless? 

Julius: I wasn't careless. You called me away. 
How should I know that she — 

Mamie: Go on. Finish the letter. 

Julius (Reading): "1 didn't take all of the money. 
I left three hundred dollars for Phoebe Louise. Give 
it to her, please, when she comes. Poor soul! She 
will need it, with such relatives." 

Mamie: She left three hundred dollars, she says. 

Julius : Where is it ? Why don't you look for it ? 

Mamie: Finish the letter and find out where it is. 

Julius: "The money is under the dictionary in a 
stamped envelope addressed to Phoebe Louise. See 
that she gets it. Good-by. V\\ send you a souvenir 
postal card some day." 

Julius: What impudence. "See that she gets it." 

(Mamie finds the envelope.) 

Julius: It's our money. 

Mamie: But is it? I don't know whether it is or 
not? 

Julius: What do you mean? Are you crazy? 

Mamie: It's in a letter addressed to some one else. 
We daren't take it. It's like stealing. 

Julius : Stealing ! That's good logic. The money's 
ours. The envelope's ours and the stamp is ours. 
Haven't we lost enough already without losing — 

Mamie: I don't care what you say. I won't 
touch it. I like money, but this seems like a theft. 

Julius: Well, if you won't, I will. 

jMamie: We'll see about that. 



PHOEBE LOUISE 95 

(Their angry voices rise together. Then the bell 
rings and they grozv suddenly silent.) 

Julius (Startled): It's the real Phoebe Louise. 
She's come at last. Hurry. Give me the money. 

Mamie: The real Phoebe Louise. Lots you know 
about it. You said the other was the exact image of 
her father, the father you hadn't seen in twenty years. 
(They quarrel again, both trying to hold the envelope. 
The bell rings a second time. They rush to the door, 
then back to the table and then back to the door, 
gesticulating angrily. Reenter Lydia, in her night- 
gown.) 

Lydia : The bell's ringing. Why don't you answer 
it? (Mamie and Julius continue to rush back and 
forth. Lydia watches them and then breaks into a 
long hearty laugh.) 

Curtain 



EVER YOUNG 
A One-Act Play 

By 
Alice Gerstenberg 



ALICE GERSTENBERG 

Alice Gerstenberg was born in Chicago of parents 
who were both born in Chicago (Erich and JuHa 
Gerstenberg) 3rd generation in that city. She was 
educated at Bryn Mawr College. She is the author 
of 

Novels — Unquenched Fire, published by Small, 
Maynard, Boston, 1912, repubished in England by 
John Long, and The Conscience of Sarah Piatt, A. C 
McClurg & Company. A dramatization (published 
and produced) of Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonder- 
land and Through the Looking-Glass. Produced at the 
Fine Arts Theatre, Chicago, and at the Booth Theatre, 
New York. 

Overtones, a one-act play, produced by the Wash- 
ington Square Players at the Bandbox Theatre to 
represent the American play in a group of compara- 
tive comedies. Later produced in vaudeville with 
Helen Lackaye and in England with Lily Langtry. 
Later published by Doubleday, Page & Company, in a 
volume entitled Four Washington Square Plays. 
(The three-act version of this play by Alice Gersten- 
berg and Alan Kay has recently been produced in 
The Playmrights' Theatre of Chicago.) 

"Beyond," a monologue published in a volume by 
Little, Brown & Company, entitled Representative 
Plays, selected by Margaret G. Mayorga. 

"The Pot Boiler," a one-act play published in a 
volume by Stewart-Kidd entitled Fifty Contemporary 

98 



EVER YOUNG 99 

One- Act Plays of the World, compiled by Frank Shay 
and Pierre Loving. The Pot Bo He}" was played in 
the Players' Workshop, Chicago; the Theatre Work- 
shop, New York; by the Arthur Maitland Players, 
San Francisco; by the Community Theatre in Holly- 
wood ; in many other Little Theatres ; in the trenches 
in France, and in vaudeville. 

Other one-act productions are The Unseen, Four- 
teen, The Buffer, He Said and She Said, Hearts, Ever 
Young, Attuned, The Illuminnafti in Drama Libre, 
etc. 

For the last three years Miss Gerstenberg has been 
chairman of the Drama Committee of the Arts Club 
of Chicago, 610 South Michigan Avenue, and has been 
producing plays which otherwise would have no 
opportunity of production because of the present state 
of the commercial theatre. 

EVER YOUNG 

Ever Young is one of Miss Gerstenberg's favorite 
plays. She herself says of it: 'Tt is a dramatic 
exercise in writing, a play with very little 'business' 
(such as moving around the stage, etc.), but the 
dramatic action, mental, emotional and comic, holds 
an audience tense. For study in technique, it ought 
to be interesting as it shows how much emotional 
drama can be enacted on an almost static stage." 

The characters in this play are not at all the 
motherly, sweet old ladies so common to the story and 
the drama. Nevertheless, the author is holding the 



100 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

mirror before a real phase of American life. The 
young reader should remember that the author here 
merely paints an interesting and amusing picture — 
she does not exhibit models! 



(Copyrighted. Applications for amateurs to produce 
Ever Young should be addressed to Norman Lee Swartout, 
24 Blackburn Road, Summit, New Jersey. Professionals 
should address Miss Alice Gerstenberg, 539 Deming Place, 
Chicago, Illinois.) 



EVER YOUNG 

(A cross-section of the life and character of 
four zvomen) 

CHARACTERS 

Mrs. Phoebe Payne-Dexter. 
Mrs. Agnes Dorchester. 
Mrs. William Blanchard. 
Mrs. Caroline Courtney-Page. 

These four distinguished-looking women of some 
sixty and seventy years, but in spirit forever young, 
enjoy spending a few hours after dinner chatting in 
a corner of the lobby of the Poincianna Hotel, Palm 
Beach, at the height of the season, from which van- 
tage ground they may view the passing show of 
fashionables. 

Scene: A corner of the lobby of the Poincianna 
Hotel, Palm Beach, shozving wicker chairs (with 
cretonne cushions) sheltered by palms. From the 
distance come faint strains of an orchestra. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: (Enters from right as if 
looking for a comfortable chair. She pulls the chairs 
about until she has placed them to suit herself. She 
is followed by Mrs. Dorchester, who also chooses a 
chair to suit herself. Mrs. Payne-Dexter's face is 

101 



102 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS • 

wrinkled but there is little sign of age in her worldly 
humorous eyes, her tightly corseted figure, her vibrant 
personality. She wears a lavender brocade evening 
gown and a dog-collar of diamonds. Her zvhite hair 
is perfectly marcelled and her well manicured hands 
flash with rings. She uses a diamond studded lor- 
gnette and carries a large hotel room key. She takes 
her chair with the authority of a leader.) There was 
no need to hurry through dinner, Agnes, there are 
plenty of chairs. 

Mrs. Dorchester: (Follows Mrs. Payne-Dexter. 
She is a sweet placid-faced woman with zvhite hair, 
not marcelled, and the rosy complexion of one who 
has lived without hurry on a country estate. She 
wears eye-glasses ; she is gowned in rich gold silk and 
is rather too overladen with old-fashioned jewelry, 
ear-rings, bracelets, pendants, rings, mostly amber, 
gold and black onyx. She carries a capacious bag of 
black and gold brocade which contains her knitting 
and which she begins to pull out as soon as she is 
comfortably seated. The ball of wool and the baby 
sock she is knitting are soft blue.) We missed our 
chance last night because you lingered over your 
coffee. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Dominatingly): I always 
linger over my coffee. I always did with Thomas 
when he was alive. Our family always has lingered 
over the coffee. 

Mrs. Dorchester (Mildly): In another moment 
there would not have been a chair vacant. Which 
one do you prefer? 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Put one aside for Mrs. 



EVER YOUNG 103 

Blanchard. I nodded to her in this direction as we 
came out of the dining-room. 

Mrs. Dorchester (Sits): She will like this 
corner. We can see every one who crosses 
the lobby. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Using her lorgnette): How 
many sights and how many frights shall we see to- 
night? Really, Agnes, I wish you would give up 
wearing your old-fashioned onyx and amber. Why 
don't you turn in all that junk and get something new 
and fashionable? (Sits.) 

Mrs. Dorchester: Oh, I've never had any desire 
to buy jewelry since my husband died. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: But that was ages ago. 
Pve had all my diamonds reset since Thomas went. 
I had my v/edding ring melted and molded again into 
an orange wreath. 

Mrs. Dorchester: There's the young bride who 
arrived to-day. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Where? 

Mrs. Dorchester: Over there near the fountain 
in a very low gown. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: I don't see her. 

Mrs. Dorchester : She moved behind the column. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Rises and crosses): I can't 
see her. Why didn't you tell me before the column 
got in the way? 

Mrs. Dorchester: If you were not so vain, 
Phoebe, you would wear decent glasses like mine. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Indeed, I can see perfectly 
well. 

Mrs. Dorchester: Well, I don't blame you for 



104 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

using your lorgnette. It does add distinction to your 

Payne-Dexter manner. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Amused) : What ! Are you 
still impressed by my manner? 

Mrs. Dorchester: I have been for fifty years — 
dear me, Phoebe, is it really fifty years ago since you 
and I were debutantes? 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Looking about carefully): 
Ssh ! Don't let the hotel know Pm seventy. 

Mrs. Dorchester : No one guesses it. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Rises and takes chair next to 
Mrs. Dorchester) : I certainly don't feel it, but let me 
tell you, these young debutantes of to-day with their 
supercilious airs, their sophisticated conversation, their 
smoking in public places, are not going to crowd me 
back into a grandmother's corner. No! I shall live 
another twenty years at least, if only to see these young 
things grow into the troubles of married life, and it 
will please me. 

Mrs. Dorchester: Why have you such animosity 
toward the debutantes? You terrorize them. Every- 
where they side-step for you. In elevators, corridors, 
in the ballroom, on the beach, they put themselves out 
to be deferential to you. It is "Good morning, Mrs. 
Payne-Dexter," "Good afternoon, Mrs. Payne-Dex- 
ter," "Good evening, Mrs. Payne-Dexter," but they 
never see me, even though we have been here since 
the opening of the season. 

Mrs. Payne- Dexter : It is because you don't 
create the atmosphere which demands their attention. 
I am putting on all the Payne-Dexter airs I can think 
of to terrorize them : I want to make the debutantes 



EVER YOUNG 105 

and their smart young men side-step for me. Their 
youth and prettiness is no longer mine, but I hold over 
them the whip hand. I am a dowager, a member of 
a society that once ruled New York, and does still 
to a certain extent and they shall bow^ to me as long 
as I inhale one breath of life ! 

Mrs. Dorchester: I do believe you are jealous of 
the present generation. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: I am, I am fiercely jealous. 

Mrs. Dorchester : But we have had our own day, 
Phoebe, it is their turn. It is our time to sit back and 
give them a chance. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Agnes, you have kept your 
health living on your estate in Long Island, but you 
have watched the inevitable drying up of flowers and 
leaves in autumn and you have followed what seems 
to you the inevitable progress of autumn into winter 
— well, my hair may be white as snow, but my blood 
is still red! 

Mrs. Dorchester: Your vitality is a marvel to 
every one. Your club work, civic and social leader- 
ship make even the doctors amazed at you. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: The doctors are my worst 
enemies. They tell me I must not eat this, I must not 
do that. They tell me I am getting old, that I must 
rest. I do not wish to rest, I simply won't grow old. 
When one has been a leader, one can not let younger 
women usurp one's position. 

Mrs. Dorchester: You still have your leadership. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter : I still have it because I will 
have it, because I will not let it go, but I have to strive 
harder for it every year, every year I must grow 



106 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

more imperious, more dominating, more terrorizing to 
hold supremacy over this new independent generation. 
(Looks off left.) There is that little presumptuous 
May Whigham. She is eighteen and so rude I should 
like to spank her. 

Mrs. Dorchester : They all fear you, Phoebe. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter (With grim humor): I hope 
so. I shall not be pushed into a corner as long as I 
still draw one breath of life ! 

Mrs. Dorchester (Looking off right): Good eve- 
ning, Mrs. Blanchard. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: We have kept a chair for 
you. 

Mrs. Blanchard (Enters up-stage from audience. 
She is thin, a trifle bent zuith age and needs a walking 
cane. It is gold-topped and suspended on it is a fan 
of lavender plumes, and a gold mesh hag. In her left 
hand she carries a hook. She is exquisitely gowned in 
light hlue chiffon and rare old lace. Her face is like 
a cameo, scarcely a wrinkle in it, and her smile is 
illuminatingly young. She wears a diamond necklace 
but no rings.) Good evening, Mrs. Payne-Dexter, Mrs. 
Dorchester. 

Mrs. Dorchester (Helping Airs. Blanchard) : Sit 
down, Mrs. Blanchard. 

Mrs. Blanchard: No, thank you, do not help 
me. I am about to throw it away. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter : Throw your cane away ? 

Mrs. Blanchard (With a light in her eyes): Yes, 
I am not going to need it in a week or so. 

Mrs. Dorchester: I heard of a woman the other 
day who dispensed with her cane. 



EVER YOUNG 107 

Mrs. Blanchard: Who was it? 

Mrs. Dorchester (Nods off right): That golf 
champion, what's her name, she's over there — the one 
with the burnt V on her chest — she told me 
all about a case, but, dear me, I never can remem- 
ber names. 

Mrs. Blanchard: I shall have to ask her about it. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Are you getting stronger 
Mrs. Blanchard! 

Mrs. Blanchard: I must get stronger. I am 
tired of depending upon a cane. Everywhere I go 
people are putting themselves out to be polite to me. 
Men help me, women send their men to help me, 
chauffeurs help me, bell-boys help me, waiters help 
me, debutantes help me — 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Debutantes! I can scarcely 
believe it! 

Mrs. Blanchard: The debutantes hop around me 
like so many sand-flies — all of them wanting to help 
me walk. I feel like swatting them with this (shakes 
cane). Their politeness to my infirmity is an insult. If 
they would only be rude! 

Mrs. Dorchester: Mrs. Payne-Dexter was just 
complaining that they were too rude. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter : Rude ! They are ! 

Mrs. Blanchard: If they are rude to you it is a 
compliment. They do not look upon you as old and 
decrepid. I resent their solicitude. In a day or two 
I shall throw this old thing away! (She tosses the 
cane aside.) 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Mrs. Blanchard! 

Mrs. Blanchard : It is no idle threat, I mean it ! 



108 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Mrs. Dorchester : But you told me you had used 
it fifteen years. 

Mrs. Blanchard: So I have, and it is old enough 
to throw away. It is the oldest leg I have and it is 
going to be thrown away. 

Mrs. Dorchester: Oldest? 

Mrs. Blanchard: What are you doubting? 

Mrs. Dorchester: My dear Mrs. Blanchard, you 
just said your cane is the oldest leg you have — 

Mrs. Blanchard: So it is. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Humorously) : Mrs. Dor- 
chester would like to know just exactly how old the 
others are. 

Mrs. Blanchard: The others are just exactly not 
more than nine months ! 

Mrs. Dorchester : Nine months ! 

Mrs. Blanchard: Do you think I should say 
ninety years? 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter : Isn't it a little nearer to the 
truth ? 

Mrs. Blanchard (Triumphantly) : But it is not 
the truth! The wonderful truth is that my legs are 
not seventy-one years old, they are not more than nine 
months old. I have been reading an amazing book. 
(She holds book up.) 

Mrs. Dorchester: What is it? 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Using lorgenette): Truth 
and Youth. 

Mrs. Blanchard: This book says that every cell 
in our body is completely new every nine months. 

Mrs. Dorchester: I heard about that. My 



EVER YOUNG 109 

daughter was reading a book about that, I forget what 
it was called. 

Mrs. Blanchard: Each cell reproduces itself ac- 
cording to the impression given to it by our subcon- 
scious mind. As we grow old we hold a thought of 
age and impress the cells with that thought, but if we 
rid ourselves of the illusion of old age we can remain 
ever young. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Let me have this book. I 
would pay a fortune for youth. 

Mrs. Blanchard: We do not have to pay for 
youth. We just have to think it and be it. It is very 
simple they say, when you have faith. 

Mrs. Dorchester: What was that book my 
daughter was reading — dear, dear, I never can remem- 
ber names, and titles and numbers! 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Too much wool, Agnes, I 
tell you you are growing old — 

Mrs. Blanchard: She does not look it. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Her mind is one hundred 
and fifty years old! 

Mrs. Dorchester (Good-naturedly): Not quite. 
I have had too many financial matters to attend to since 
my husband died to let me slip too far behind the 
times, but I believe in accepting old age with as good 
a grace as possible. 

Mrs. Blanchard: Rubbish! That is antedilu- 
vian! I am just beginning to learn how to live. Do 
you know I have just obtained my divorce? 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Have you divorced Mr. 
Blanchard, after all these years? 



no A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Mrs. Blanchard: Yes, after all these years. I 
suppose you know the story of my life. It was nation- 
ally commented upon when my daughter married the 
Duke of Caubreigh. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: My St. Louis friends often 
mentioned you, that is why I was so interested in 
meeting you here this season. When my husband was 
alive he used to hear things at the clubs. 

Mrs. Blanchard: No doubt he did. My husband 
has been notoriously unfaithful to me. I grieved about 
it for more than forty years and I never had the sense 
to get rid of him. Never had the courage until now 
— but now, it is all as clear as day to me — ■ If I have 
been a fool for forty years must I stay a fool forever ? 
No, I kicked over the traces, with my wooden leg — and 
I am a free woman. 

Mrs. Dorchester: How odd, to think of your 
wilfully giving up your husband when we widows so 
wish ours back again. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Did your husband contest 
it? 

Mrs. Blanchard: My husband was amazed, in- 
dignant — he writes me imploring letters. He is old 
now and ready to settle down. Now, when he is 
ready to sit before the fireplace and watch me knit, 
I have played a trick on him — I am not ready to sit 
before the fireplace and I would rather play roulette 
than knit. By the way I gambled three hundred dol- 
lars away last night. 

Mrs. Dorchester: We left early. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: That is, at midnight. 

Mrs. Dorchester: We rode around a bit before 



EVER YOUNG 111 

coming in. It was so balmy and I just love to ride 
in the chairs. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: I suppose it was not quite 
the thing for two lone women to ride around in the 
moonlight at midnight, but the colored boy said every 
one does it at Palm Beach. 

Mrs. Dorchester: It was very romantic. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: There is romance in every 
breeze through the palm trees. 

Mrs. Blanchard (Gaily): I didn't come back to 
the hotel until morning. I stayed on and played, had 
breakfast there — came home without a ring on my 
finger — handed them over as security to a friend who 
thought it funny to take them — 

Mrs. Dorchester: We missed you on the beach 
this morning. 

Mrs. Blanchard: I slept until luncheon. I am 
going back to-night to win my rings again. (She 
dangles a gold bag stuffed with bills.) Starting with 
five hundred to-night. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Before you know it you 
will have gambled a fortune away! 

Mrs. Blanchard (Laughs): I'm not worrying. 
I receive an amazing high alimony. The court 
figured that I would not live long and that I needed 
much medical care. Well, I am not paying out any 
money for medical care and when it comes to having 
a good time I am making up for forty years! I 
found only one man in my whole life whom I really 
loved and he was not my husband. (Hastily.) Be 
shocked if you want to — I am free now and can speak 
of it. 



112 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: What happened? 

Mrs. Blanchard: I have never known what be- 
came of him. 

Mrs. Dorchester: I can't imagine what it must 
be not to love one's husband. I miss mine so! 

Mrs. Blanchard: I had been married only four 
months when I heard of my husband's infatuation 
for a married woman in our own set. He had mar- 
ried me only, it seems, to allay suspicion. Of course, 
I see now that I should have divorced him then and 
there, but I was very young and it wasn't being done 
in those days. In those hours of my disillusion a 
dashing young lieutenant understood my despair and 
planned to arouse my husband's jealousy and so bring 
him back to me — 

Mrs. Dorchester: Phoebe, stop fuddling with 
your door-key. It gets on my nerves. 

Mrs. Blanchard: He succeeded in arousing my 
husband's jealousy but meanwhile I had fallen in 
love with the lieutenant — 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter : And he with you no 
doubt? 

Mrs. Blanchard: Yes. 

Mrs. Dorchester: Mrs. Blanchard, it is a life- 
tragedy, but not a line of it shows in your face. 

Mrs. Blanchard: I wouldn't let it show in my 
face. I harbored a secret thought — a terrible 
thought that my husband might die, that I might be 
free to find the other again, that then he should not 
see an old wrinkled face after he had cherished the 
memory of my youth. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Think of living like that 



EVER YOUNG 113 

all these years when you might have had a divorce 
long ago. 

Mrs. Blanchard: It's humorous in a way, isn't 
it? That when women like you and Mrs. Dorchester 
are widowed, I had to put up with a husband who 
just wouldn't die? 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: What became of the lieu- 
tenant ? 

Mrs. Blanchard: He asked to be transferred to 
another post. He wanted to go as far away from 
me as possible — no distance seemed far enough to 
break the magnetic attraction between us. Finally he 
was sent as far away as China, and there we lost 
track of him in the Boxer rebellion. 

Mrs. Dorchester: And you never heard from 
him again? 

Mrs. Blanchard: No. The Government re- 
ported him as missing. No doubt the Chinese took 
him prisoner. If he died— and I think he must have 
died — all these years I have imagined that he died — 
I have felt his spirit near me — guiding me — watching 
over me — 

Mrs. Dorchester (Shaking her head): Do you 
believe he could be near you? I don't believe that 
my husband is. I sit and knit and think of him, but 
the beyond seems nothing but void and silence. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Practically): Well, I be- 
lieve in believing anything that helps you. 

Mrs. Dorchester (Shaking head): I can't get 
into communication. 

Mrs. Blanchard (Hopefully): Oh! I know 
Oliver Trent has never forgotten me. If he had lived 



114 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

or escaped, Oliver would have found me. I know 
Oliver died and that his spirit has been lovingly near 
me these twenty years! 

Mrs. Dorchester: My husband and I loved each 
other deeply. That love, it seems to me, should hold 
us together even after he has gone, but I can't believe 
that it does. 

Mrs. Blanchard: It does and it will, if you have 
faith. There is nothing but love — I am beginning to 
feel it — for a long while I tried to make myself be- 
lieve it — for a long while I could only think, but now 
I am beginning to feel it — deep within me to realize 
it! — and I feel warm all through. Oh, I shall put 
aside my ancient legs! (She flings the cane aside.) 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Of course, he loved you — 
I am sure he did. 

Mrs. Dorchester: If he were only alive now 
that you have your divorce. 

]\1rs. Blanchard: So you see my romance is only 
a shadow — only a thought — there is nothing tangible — 
I dared keep no letters, not one single token of his — 
only my thoughts, but those thoughts have kept me 
from going to pieces all these years. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: And the thoughts have 
kept your face so young. 

Mrs. Blanchard : I would not let my face change 
— if by some miracle I should see him again I must 
be as he remembered me — but I cou-ldn't control my 
body as well — I seemed to get wearier and wearier of 
life until I needed a cane to lean on — and then I 
doubled up on that and here I am — 



EVER YOUNG 115 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter : And here you are threaten- 
ing to walk without it. 

Mrs. Blanchard (Brightening): I will too, I 
will. I only sadden when I begin to think of the 
past. If s a bad habit. I shall not do it any more. 
Only if I could be sure he died with just me in his 
heart, I wouldn't mind so much his not being alive. 
If I knew that all these years it has been he guiding 
me and not my imagination and self-deception, that 
he is near me all the time — if I could but know that. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: I should certainly continue 
to believe that he remembered me. 

Mrs. Dorchester (Consolingly): I am sure he 
did. 

Mrs. Blanchard (Shakes her head): I built my 
life upon my faith in him — if I should be robbed of 
this belief in his love for me — I think it would — kill 
me. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: But if you could have 
proof of his love — 

Mrs. Blanchard (With shining eyes): Oh! If I 
could have proof. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Looking off stage) : There's 
that beautiful Mrs. Courtney- Page. I should like to 
know her better. Shall we invite her to sit with us? 

Mrs. Blanchard: Who is she? 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: The white-haired woman 
in white velvet carrying a black fan. She is just 
coming out of mourning for her last husband. 

Mrs. Dorchester: Last! How many did she 
have? 



116 A BOOk CF ONE- ACT PLAYS 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: The manicurist told me 
she had three — and the clerk in the jewel shop told 
me only one, they v^^ere appraising her pearls — she 
has such marvelous pearls — I'd love to see her pearls 
close by — wouldn't you? — 

Mrs. Blanchard (Amused): Oh! yes, do invite 
her over — I'd like to exchange data about husbands. 
Is she down here alone? 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: They say she came alone 
— but I've noticed her on the beach with one man, 
and in a wheel-chair with another — she's alone now 
though and evidently looking for a place to sit — call 
her over, Agnes. 

Mrs. Dorchester (Timidly) : But I don't know 
her. Phoebe, you call her. 

Mrs. Blanchard: Don't you know her, Mrs. 
Payne-Dexter ? 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: I might pretend to. How 
do you do. (She bows amiably.) 

Mrs. Courtney-Page : (Enters from right. She 
is white-haired and about sixty, but she has dash in 
her manner and her figure is stunning in a white vel- 
vet evening gown. She is the type that can be a 
vampire at any age. The gown has the medieval 
charm of long sleeves although it is very low at the 
throat. Her jewels are pearls, ropes of pearls. She 
carries a black feather fan, a black velvet bag, and a 
batch of mail among which is a black rimmed letter.) 
How do you do — You must pardon me, I don't recall 
the name? 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Mrs. Payne-Dexter, of 



EVER YOUNG 117 

New York. Don't tell me, Mrs. Courtney-Page, that 
you have forgotten me. 

Mrs. Courtney-Page (With poise): Oh! yes — 
Mrs. Payne-Dexter — a name so well known — we met, 
I remember, exactly five years ago at the opera. Your 
box was next to the Carrolls'. We were their guests 
one evening when my late husband and I were in New 
York on a wedding trip. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Why, yes, of course, how 
clever of you to remember. My friends, Mrs. Dor- 
chester, Mrs. Blanchard — 

Mrs. Blanchard: How do you do — won't you 
sit down? 

Mrs. Courtney- Page : Yes, thank you. (She 
sits.) I have noticed you, Mrs. Blanchard. Your 
cane? (She picks it up and courteously hands it to 
Mrs. Blanchard.) 

Mrs. Blanchard (Courteously taking it as an evi- 
dence of courteous consideration) : Thank you. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Mrs. Dorchester and I 
have been spending the season in Palm Beach. Mrs. 
Dorchester is a native of Long Island. 

Mrs. Blanchard: And I came down from St. 
Louis and had the good fortune to become acquainted 
with them, personally. I have always known Mrs. 
Payne-Dexter by reputation. 

Mrs. Courtney- Page : Blanchard of St. Louis. 
The name is very familiar — 

Mrs. Blanchard : My daughter married the Duke 
of Caubreigh — 

Mrs. Courtney-Page : Oh! yes — ^yes — but just 
lately — it seems to me I saw that name lately. 



118 A BOOK OF ONE- ACT PLAYS 

Mrs. Blanchard: No doubt you did. 1 am cele- 
brating my divorce ! 

Mrs. Dorchester: I think she has a great deal 
of courage to face the world alone — voluntarily. 

Mrs. Blanchard: It is rejuvenating to feel so 
marvelously free! 

Mrs. Courtney-Page: She is quite right. Why 
should a woman remain in bondage when there is at 
every turn a new chance for a better alliance! 

Mrs. Blanchard: Good gracious! Do you be- 
lieve me capable of marrying again at my age? 

Mrs. Courtney-Page: Why not? A woman can 
marry any man she wants. 

Mrs. Dorchester (Mildly): Oh! The man may 
get the woman he wants, Henry kept insisting until 
I married him, but I don't think it's the other way 
round ; do you, Phoebe ? 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Dominating manner): I 
don't know. I worked very hard for Thomas but I 
got him. 

Mrs. Blanchard : I haven't an opinion. The one 
/ wanted I met only when it was too late. 

Mrs. Courtney- Page : What do you mean by too 
late? 

Mrs. Blanchard: After I was married to some 
one else. 

Mrs. Courtney- Page : But now you are di- 
vorced — 

Mrs. Blanchard: Oh! it's too late now. My 
romance was over twenty years ago. 

Mrs. Dorchester: Do you really think a woman 
can marry any man she wants? 



EVER YOUNG 119 

Mrs. Courtney-Page: I've proved it. I was 
engaged three times, married once, once widowed, and 
now I have another fiance. Isn't that a proof? 

Mrs. Blanchard (Suavely): You are, if you will 
pardon my frankness, a very handsome woman, Mrs. 
Courtney-Page. Such attractions would not require 
much further effort on your part. 

Mrs. Courtney-Page: Thank you, but there is a 
science about attracting love as there is about every- 
thing else. There hasn't been a moment of my life 
when I haven't been in love. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Rather snortingly): That's 
impossible ! There aren't enough people in the world 
for that! 

Mrs. Courtney- Page (With real tenderness): 
Oh ! yes there are — as long as you hold the thought of 
love, you will find those you can love — and as long as 
you love you will attract it in return. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Wliere is your home now, 
Mrs. Courtney-Page? 

Mrs. Courtney- Page : Chicago, but I was born 
in San Francisco. I was Emily Tardon. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Emily Tardon! You don't 
mean it ! Are you really ! Why, it just seems yester- 
day when all the magazines were full of your photo- 
graphs, the most beautiful debutante on the western 
coast ! 

Mrs. Courtney- Page : They did make a fuss 
about it when I became engaged to Harlow Bingham 
— I was only eighteen then. When I look back and 
think what a brilliant career I might have had with 
Harlow — well — you know he died — (she sighs) — be- 



120 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

fore we were married — an accident — horse-racing. 
Poor Harlow, he gave me my first pearls. (She un- 
consciously plays with a strand of pearls.) 

Mrs. Blanchard: Magnificent pearls! 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Using lorgnette): I have 
scarcely been able to keep my eyes off of them. 

Mrs. Courtney-Page: This strand — the shortest 
and smallest — was given to me by Harlow Bingham 
upon our engagement. He gave me a solitaire too, 
but the pearls were a gift of thanks because I had 
given up the desire to go on the stage to marry him. 

Mrs. Dorchester: Oh, did you want to be an 
actress ? 

Mrs. Courtney-Page: I have wanted nothing 
more all of my life. 

Mrs. Blanchard: You would have made a good 
one too. 

Mrs. Court ney- Page : My family opposed me 
as all families do. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: They did in those days. 

Mrs. Courtney- Page : So I had to give up the 
idea of acting on the stage. (But it is evident that 
she has been acting in real life ever since.) 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter (In a whisper, looking down 
right): Look, look, that's the man who tried to 
flirt with me the other day at the the tea dance in 
the Grove. 

Mrs. Courtney-Page: Don't you know who that 
is? 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: No. 

Mrs. Courtney-Page: That's Beverly Strawn, 
our best seller novelist. 



EVER YOUNG 121 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Gracious! Hide me! He 
must have been picking me out for the dowager 
mother-in-law in his next novel — 

Mrs. Dorchester : Did you marry Mr. Courtney- 
Page after Mr. — what's his name died — Your first 
fiance ? 

Mrs. Courtney- Page : No. I became engaged 
to PhiHp Harlow, an Englishman, I met in Egypt. 
He was on his way to South Africa. He had been 
in diplomatic service in India and had been trans- 
ferred. He brought me this second strand — the 
second largest and longest — from India. He went 
ahead to South Africa to prepare a home intending 
to come back for me, but he died of fever — and we — 
were never married. 

Mrs. Blanchard: How thrillingly tragic! 

Mrs. Dorchester: I could not have endured it. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: And the other strands — 
you have two more — 

Mrs. Courtney-Page: This third one was the 
gift of my husband, Mr. Courtney- Page. I would 
not let him give them to me until after we were mar- 
ried. 

Mrs. Dorchester: That was a wise precaution. 
They say pearls mean tears. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: It is surprising that he 
risked giving you pearls at all. 

Mrs. Courtney-Page : He felt he had to because 
he was jealous of the others — of course, I couldn't 
throw the others away — they were so beautiful and 
so costly — 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Naturally not. 



122 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Mrs. Courtney-Page: So he finally purchased a 
strand in Vienna — larger and longer than the other. 

Mrs. Blanchard: And then did he die too? 

Mrs. Courtney-Page: Oh! no, Mr. Courtney- 
Page was the third man I was engaged to, but the 
only one I married. He died scarcely a year ago. 

Mrs. Dorchester (Takes some digestive tablets 
out of her bag and offers them): Will you have a 
life-preserver? I ate something to-night that didn't 
quite agree with me. (She takes one.) 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Takes one): Thank you. 

Mrs. Dorchester (Offering): Mrs. Blanchard? 

Mrs. Blanchard: No, thanks, I don't need them 
any more since I am taking the new diet. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: What is your new diet? 

Mrs. Dorchester (Silently offers Mrs. Courtney- 
Page, who takes one.) 

Mrs. Blanchard: Nuts, fruit, no meat, no bread, 
no hot vegetables, no coffee, no tea — • 

Mrs. Dorchester : Have you stopped eating alto- 
gether ? 

Mrs. Blanchard: Only fruit and nuts — I feel as 
light as a feather — in another day I shall walk and 
throw away this stick ! 

Mrs. Dorchester: You said in another week you 
would throw it away. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Now be careful, don't take 
risks ! 

Mrs. Blanchard : The book says we must not 
have negatives in our mind. I tell you that if I can 
have enough faith I shall walk alone! 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Oh! the book. 



EVER YOUNG 123 

Mrs. Blanchard (Handing book to Mrs. Payne- 
Dexter): Truth and Youth. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Reading from book at 
random): "The average man and woman of middle 
age chooses a comfortable chair and settles down into 
it with the thought that life is finished and it is neces- 
sary to await the end. Women do this more than 
men. When women see their little children grown to 
manhood and independent of them, they feel that 
their use in life is over. Nothing is more untrue. 
The grandmother is a free — " 

Mrs. Dorchester (Interrupting as she glances off- 
down left): Just a moment, Phoebe, excuse me, but 
what did you say was the name of the woman in jet — 
walking with the aviator — did she fly down with him 
from New York? 

Mrs. Courtney-Page: That's Hilda Dane, one 
of the Follies. They say she has her skin insured 
when she's on the beach. 

Mrs. Blanchard: I have never seen her skin. 
She paints it up with whitewash and her lips are thick 
with red paint. Yesterday on the beach she wore a 
lemon colored woolen cape with a big sable collar 
and every diamond that has ever been given to her. 

Mrs. Dorchester: Is she married to the aviator? 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Going back to her book): 
Don't ask absurd questions, Agnes. "The grand- 
mother is a free woman, she has a new youth. She 
has the vision of experience with which to experiment 
for greater wisdom — " Ah, Agnes, you must read 
this book — it will stir you up — ^your very mind is 
getting to be like wool. 



124 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Mrs. Dorchester (Amused): I have always been 
more domestic than you, Phoebe. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Domestic! Haven't I done 
my share? Haven't I run a house in New York, a 
house in Newport, a house in London, apartments in 
Paris, I even had a palace one season in Venice — no, 
it is not domesticity that is making you old, it is 
mental lethargy! 

Mrs. Courtney-Page: That is the worst enemy 
to youth, mental lethargy, I refuse to have it! 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Mrs. Dorchester doesn't 
live for herself any more. When she is at home, she 
is a slave to her grandchildren, when she is away she 
can scarcely take time from the wool to look at a 
cocoanut grove. 

Mrs. Dorchester (Looking azvay): Oh, I can 
knit without looking. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter : I am more selfish. I let 
my children and grandchildren alone. As long as 
they are not starving, it is no business of mine to live 
for them. I do not spend my evenings knitting baby- 
socks. I have my opera box, I give dinner parties 
and entertain distinguished foreign visitors. I have 
my club committees, my charities, and I am studying 
art so as to be able to add to my husband's collection 
of paintings — as a memorial to him — and I am taking 
up Spanish because I am planning to spend next sea- 
son in Buenos Aires. But you, Agnes, you make 
your children dependent upon you — you are always 
nursing some grandchild through something. 

Mrs. Dorchester: But when they are ill, I mtist 
help them. 



EVER YOUNG 125 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: You think you must and 
they let you think it because they don't want to hurt 
your feelings by letting you know they don't need 
you. You take care of a grandchild so its own 
mother can go and play bridge, you save your son a 
nurse's bill while he spends the money playing polo at 
the country club. 

Mrs. Dorchester: But it isn't a happy thought 
not to be needed. 

Mrs. Blanchard: You were telling us about 
your pearls, Mrs. Courtney-Page. It is an exquisite 
pleasure to look at them. 

Mrs. Courtney-Page: This fourth strand, the 
largest and longest, is the gift of my new fiance. I 
am down here waiting for time to pass — we shall be 
married as soon as it seems correct. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Dear me (She looks off 
down left), there's Mrs. Wallace Morse in another 
gown — and as usual no petticoat. 

Mrs. Courtney-Page: Well, I think she does 
wear one! 

Mrs. Blanchard: Aren't you lucky to find a 
fiance again! I am afraid I couldn't bring myself 
to care for any man as much as I have cared for one 
in the past. 

Mrs. Dorchester: Nor I. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Hump! Men aren't worth 
bothering about. 

Mrs. Courtney- Page : I was so lost without 
marriage companionship that when I was in Paris last 
autumn, I picked out the most eligible man I could 



126 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

find. He is quite old, but very nice and has valuable 
mines in Australia. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Is he a Frenchman? 

Mrs. Courtney-Page: No, an American, but he 
hasn't been in this country since he was sent to the 
American Legation in China. He has had an excit- 
ing life. He was taken prisoner in the Boxer rebel- 
lion and was reported missing for years, but a faith- 
ful Chinese servant smuggled him to Australia. 

Mrs. Blanchard (Begins to tremble with premo- 
nition — her hands quiver as they chit eh her cane): 
Your fiance, his name — 

Mrs. Courtney-Page: Oliver Trent — ^president 
of the AustraHa Mining Company of — 

Mrs. Blanchard (With a gasp of anguish looses 
her hold on the cane; it falls unheeded to the floor): 
Oliver Trent — you said Oliver Trent? 

Mrs. Dorchester (Blandly): Why — wasn't that 
the name of the man you loved — wasn't that the 
name, Phoebe? 

Mrs. Courtney-Page: The man, Mrs. Blanchard 
— I don't understand — 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Trying to relieve the situa- 
tion): Mrs. Blanchard had been telling us about a 
friend of hers who had been lost in the Boxer rebel- 
lion. She thought he had died. No doubt it is a 
consolation to her to know that he still lives. 

Mrs. Blanchard (Wilted and old-looking and 
zvith an effort): No, Mrs. Courtney- Page, I can 
scarcely bear the fact that he still lives. I have held 
him in my heart as one dead for twenty years. I 
have lived on the thought that he loved me. He loved 



EVER YOUNG 127 

me once, but I know now that men can not be true. 
When he w^ent to China he put me out of his mind 
forever. He has forgotten me — for younger and 
handsomer women. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Hump! I wouldn't let it 
worry me. Men are not worth such life-long adora- 
tion. You look about and some one else — 

Mrs. Dorchester (Gently): Perhaps, Mrs. Court- 
ney-Page will give him up, if we tell her what he 
means to you. 

Mrs. Blanchard (Fiercely): I want my own — 
not what is cast off — 

Mrs. Courtney-Page (Drawing her chair closer to 
Mrs. Blanchard and speaking gently): You want me 
to give him up? (She fondles the largest strand of 
pearls reluctantly.) It would be hard for me to do — 
It wasn't easy to win him. I had to use all the art 
I have learned in past experience to get him. He has 
never been married and is a little afraid — ^but I won 
him — if I give him up, are you sure he would remem- 
ber you? 

Mrs. Blanchard (In anguish of spirit hut under 
control): No. Do not trouble. I shall have to bear 
it. I — I feel quite bhnd — as if I had been struck on 
the head — but maybe it is just my heart. You see he 
and I were very much in love, but I was married and 
he had to go away. He promised not to forget. But 
he was young and — and maybe I shouldn't have be- 
lieved him. When I never heard again and the Gov- 
ernment reported him missing, every one said he must 
be dead. That last day before he went, I met him 
clandestinely in the Park. I cut off a bit of my hair 



128 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

that day. It was golden then, like golden amber he 
said, and he put it into an amber locket he wore on 
his watch charm. 

Mrs. Dorchester (Drops her knitting needles and 
lets her zvool roll to the floor): I remember, I re- 
member, am.ber locket — from a watch charm — I have 
it here — Fve had it twenty years — made into a brace- 
let (She fakes off bracelet). My son brought it home 
from the Philippines — it was given to him by a 
Chinese servant — 

Mrs. Blanchard (In extreme excitement) : The 
locket — 

Mrs. Courtney- Page : A Chinese servant — 

Mrs. Dorchester: Yes, the very one you said 
rescued him. I remember it all now. How stupid 
of me not to think of it before, but as Phoebe says, 
my mind's all wool — that Chinese servant — 

Mrs. Blanchard: Yes — ^yes — go on! 

Mrs. Dorchester (Speedily): You know the 
Boxers stormed the Legation — he fought desperately 
and valiantly, the Chinese servant described all that — 
how he was taken prisoner and tortured so he almost 
lost his mind. At night he raved in delirium. He 
called a woman's name, but there was no one of that 
name in the Legation, — my son told me but I have 
such a wretched memory for names — but it wasn't a 
real name that one could identify — it must have been 
a nickname — ■ 

Mrs. Blanchard: Was it Dee-dee? 

Mrs. Dorchester (Pouncingly) : Dee-dee, Dee- 
dee, that's what it was ! Oh ! my stupid head ! 

Mrs. Blanchard (Pathetically) : It meant "dear." 



EVER YOUNG 129 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Lovingly at Mrs. Dorchester 
with increasing suspense): Why have you kept this 
from us all this time? 

Mrs. Dorchester (Gaining assurance): How 
could I know my son's story was about Mrs. Blanchard 
until she mentioned the watch charm? — but now it all 
comes back to me — at night in delirium he called this 
name — how he loved this woman — he took the watch 
charm and opened it and kissed the blonde lock of 
hair, and he treasured it as nothing else he had. He 
treasured it so highly that he gave it to his Chinese 
servant to keep for him — for fear they would rob 
him cf it. They took his money and everything else 
he had but the servant kept the amber safely — but — 
but— 

Mrs. Blanchard (Wrapt attention): But then 
how did you forget it? 

Mrs. Dorchester: That's just it — I'll tell you 
how it was — Oh! my stupid memory. Phoebe, stop 
fiddling with your door key, you distract me — The 
amber — the Chinese servant smuggled him into a 
boat — » 

Mrs. Blanchard: Who was smuggled into the 
boat? 

Mrs. Dorchester: Mr. What's his name — your — 

Mrs. Blanchard: Oliver Trent — 

Mrs. Dorchester: Yes, into the boat — and in the 
excitement of concealing him behind some kegs — the 
ship began to move and the Chinese servant had to 
run to get of¥ and in running he forgot to give up 
the amber watch charm — and so he kept it — he kept 
it as a talisman and a few years later when he served 



130 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

my son in the Philippines, he gave it to him as a 
talisman when my son was very ill with fever — and 
my son became superstitious about it and had it set 
into a bracelet for me as my protection — now, I shall 
give it to you — for it is your talisman, Mrs. Blanchard, 
a talisman of his undying love. 

(Mrs. Blanchard is incapable of speech, but she 
takes the bracelet in both hands and raises it to her 
lips; a light of inspiration comes into her eyes.) 

Mrs. Courtney-Page: And that is why I had 
such difficulty making him care for me. He told me 
about his first love — he spoke of her as Dee-dee and 
he told me that when he lost the amber — ^he felt that 
she had gone out of his life forever — he said that she 
was married and it was unlawful for him to think of 
her — but he has never forgotten — he told me he would 
love her always — and when I tell him of you, Mrs. 
Blanchard, he will come to you at once, for you have 
been right — his love has been yours and is yours still. 
I think you ought to have these pearls. 

Mrs. Blanchard (Her eyes illumined, her body 
stronger): Oh! no, thank you — I don't want them — 
I — I — have this. (She holds the locket in her tzvo 
hands and rises; forgetting her cane.) Excuse me, 
ladies, if I go to my room — I — I have had my answer 
out of the silence — and Fm a little — unstrung. (She 
zmlks out right with great dignity and composure, a 
grand dame in manner even in her ecstasy and the 
light in her eyes is a triumph of youth.) 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter (Looking after her in awe): 
Without her cane! 

Mrs. Courtney-Page: Don't remind her! 



EVER YOUNG 131 

Mrs. Dorchester (Sighing): Poor dear— poor 
dear — 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter : Was that all true what you 
said, Agnes? I never heard you talk so fast in all 
your life — and how you suddenly got such memory! 
You never told me anything about that amber charm 
and you've worn it forever, seems to me ! 

Mrs. Dorchester: Father gave it to me my 

twenty-first birthday to save a lock of my blonde hair. 

I risked the chance that mine was a duplicate of hers. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: And all you said was a lief 

Mrs. Courtney- Page : It doesn't matter. We 

shall make it true. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter : But when she finds out that 
you have deceived her — 

Mrs. Courtney- Page : She will never find out. 

I shall warn him to hide away his amber watch charm. 

Mrs. Dorchester: Does he still wear it? 

Mrs. Courtney-Page: Yes; and many other 

charms, from other loves— They say he has been a 

great beau — 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: The outrageous flirt! 
Mrs. Dorchester : Poor dear Mrs. Blanchard. I 
thought she would die— I was afraid she was dying— 
I had to say something to bring her to. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter : But what have you gained 
by these lies? 

Mrs. Courtney-Page: Does she not walk? 
Mrs. Payne-Dexter (With awe): Yes, it is a 
miracle. 

Mrs. Courtney-Page: Merely a miracle of the 
realization of love — 



132 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: But it is built on a false 
belief. He has not been true to her. 

Mrs. Courtney- Page ; Mrs. Payne-Dexter, I have 
never questioned the reality of any one's love for me. 
That w^hich counts is, after all, only that which is in 
our own hearts. If Mrs. Blanchard is convinced of 
his love — that is all that is really necessary. 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter : But when you marry him — 

Mrs. Courtney-Page: I shall not marry him — I 
shall only keep the pearls — 

Mrs. Dorchester: But if yoii love him — 

Mrs. Courtney-Page: Well as for that — /. al- 
ways, can find some one else — 

Mrs. Dorchester: Gracious, my wool is a mess! 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: You'd better give up knit- 
ting, Agnes, and turn to story-writing — you've quite 
surprised me with your sudden brilliancy. Bell-boy, 
you may have these glasses — 

Mrs. Dorchester: Your diamond, platinum lorg- 
nette ! 

Mrs. Payne-Dexter: Hump! do you think / 
have to manufacture a love-affair to help me get rid 
of my glasses? 

Mrs. Dorchester (Scarcely able to grasp the 
idea): She walked without her cane! 

Mrs. Courtney- Page (With a sentimental smile): 
Oh I to stay young, one must love. 

Curtain 



THE MAN WHO COULDN'T SAY "NO" 

By 

Claudia Lucas Harris 



CLAUDIA LUCAS HARRIS 

Mrs. Harris was born in Iowa and went on the 
stage when a child, continuing in that work until 
seven years ago, when she opened the Harris Studio 
of Dramatic Art in Indianapolis. She has written a 
number of one-act plays, and two dramas which have 
been played professionally — The Sporting Passion and 
At the Month of the Mine — also a number of plays 
for children: Jack in the Pulpit, Spring and Young 
Mr. Santa Claus, which latter have been successfuU)^ 
acted in Indianapolis. 

Mrs. Harris is a charming reader of plays and 
monologues, and presents very attractive programs. 
She has directed very successfully the work of the 
Little Theatre Society in Indianapolis. She is now 
a resident of Pittsburgh. 

THE MAN WHO COULDN'T SAY "NO" 

Frequently the one-act play depicts, in charming 
fashion, the life and manners of simple folk. 

The Man Who Couldn't Say "No'' is only an epi- 
sode in the life of a failure, but it portrays character 
in an unusual way. These people really Hve for us. 
The slow easy style here is altogether in keeping with 
Joe and his attitude toward life. 



(Applications to produce The Man Who Couldn't Say 
"No" should be addressed to Mrs, James Harris, 3318 Car- 
rollton Avenue, Indianapolis.) 

134 



THE MAN WHO COULDN'T 
SAY "NO" 

The Present. Winter. Sunday in a small town. 
Place : Settin'-room in Joe Stehbins' home. 

PEOPLE 

Joe Stebbins . . a harness maker, — the "failure" 

Abner Ellis his old-time friend 

Mum Joe's crippled mother 

Hallie an orphan 

Eddie Joe's little son 

(Joe and Abner are playing checkers at a table L. C. 
Mum sits in her new wheeled chair by the windozv R. 
Hallie is heard clearing away the dishes in the din- 
ing-room L. and singing snatches of old hymn tunes 
in a fresh happy voice. Eddie is watching the game 
from the back of the table. 

(Ab has Joe covered. Joe has one king in a corner 
zuhere he can move only one way. Ab is closing in 
on him with his several kings.) 

Eddie (Excitedly) : Jump 'im, paw! Jump 'im! 
Don't ye see? 

Joe (Good-naturedly): Yes, son, I see. But I 
don't see as 'twould do me no good to jump 'im seein' 
as how he'd jump me right back again. 

Ab (Chuckling) : Guess I got ye, Joe. You're done. 
Your little king ain't got no parade ground to exercise 
in no more. 

135 



136 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Joe (With a mock sigh): The game's your'n, Ab- 
ner. (Ahner marks it in note-hook.) 

Ab: That makes three. I'm a-goin' to skunk you 
this time! 

Joe: Skunk away if ye kin. But you ain't done 
it to me yit. 

Eddie : Huh ! 'F I couldn't play checkers no 
better'n you can, paw, I'd go soak m' head! 

Ab: Run away, Buddy. I reckon yer Pa'd git 
along jest as well 'ihout your advice an' counsel. 

Joe: Oh, he don't bother none. Pore little chap! 
Sunday's a lonesome day fer a little feller. (Tries 
to stroke Eddie's hair while Ahner is re-setting the 
hoard — the hoy migracionsly ducks and sziKiggers up 
stage whistling.) 

Hallie (Calls from dining-room) : Come in, Eddie, 
and help me with the dishes, there's a good boy! 

Eddie: Aw, whad'ye take me for? I ain't a-goin* 
to do no girl's work. (Exits whistling into dining- 
room.) 

Joe (Chuckling): Hear that? Ain't no sissy about 
that boy! 

Ab (Dryly): No, they ain't no sissy — likewise 
they ain't nothin' good to be said fer 'im neither. 
He's spoiled, Joe, jest spoiled, that's what he is. 

Joe: I 'low I do spoil him considerable — ^but you 
know how I feel about the pore motherless little 
feller. He ain't to blame. It's my fault, I reckon — 
but — ever sence his maw left us — I ain't had the 
heart to punish him fer nothin'. 

Ab: Ye're too easy, Joe, that's what's the matter 
with you. It's been yer besettin' sin all yer life; 



THE MAN WHO COULDN'T SAY "NO" 137 

that's why you ain't never made no more of a success 
of yer harness-makin' business. Jes' cos you was so 
lurned easy ye trusted ever' Tom, Dick and Harry 
who come in an' asked ye. An' now, yer business 
fallin' off on account o' these here motors bein' used 
fer ever 'thing, ye never will 'mount to shucks. 

Joe: Mebbe not, Abner, mebbe not. Anyways, I 
reckon I kin hang on till I raise an' eddicate 
the boy. They's this here place fer him — all clear. 
Aside from that, he'll haf to shift fer himself after 
I'm gone. 

Ab: Ye'd 'a' had more if ye hadn't alius been so 
dog-gone easy. I've knowed you, Joel Stebbins, 
sence we was kids together an' I never yit knowed 
you to hev the courage to say ''no" t' nobody. 

Joe : I reckon I've got along as well as most folks. 
We live comf 'table — with an occasional luxury — like 
Mum's new wheel-chair. 

Ab : An' she ain't crazy 'out it, neither. 

Joe: Oh, well, pore ole lady, she'll like it better 
when she gits used to it. It only come las' week. 

Ab: You can't tell me Mum'll ever adm't likin' 
anything as well as her ole wooden rocker. 

Joe: Well, bein' old an' crippled up fer ten er 
fifteen year' don't calkilate to sweeten no one's dispo- 
sition. It's yore move, Abner. 

Mum (Looking up from her Bible) : Air you two 
fool boys still gamblin'? 

Joe: Yes, Mum. Ab's skinned me three times 
an' claims he's a-goin' to skunk me this'n. 

Mum : Well, ye don't desarve to win— gamblin' on 
the Lord's Day. Goodness knows, Joel, I tried to 



138 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

raise you a Christian but it don't seem as if my lickin's 
took no good effect. 

Joe (Chuckling): No, Mum, I alius was a bad 
egg. I reckon they ain't nothin' kin save me from 
everlastin' damnation. (Ab and he chuckle.) 

Mum (Indignantly) : Ain't nothin' to laff at as I 
kin see. 'Twon't be so funny, Abner EUis, when 
you're seethin' in fire an' brimstun — payin' up fer yer 
meannesses hyar on airth. 

Ab: I know, Mum. I wasn't laffin' at what you 
thought. I was laffin' 'cause I got Joe in a cornder 
and he can't see no way out of it. 

Mum (Plaintively): My talkin' don't do no good. 
The seeds fall on stony ground. No one can say I 
didn't warn ye! 

Ab: They sure can't. You be'n a human finger- 
post longer'n I kin remember — pointin' out the road 
they was goin' to most o' the folks around here. 

Joe: Don't tease her, Ab. She's old an' a leetle 
childish, pore ole soul. She ain't got long t' stay. 

Ab : She stayed long enough to fix your life fer 
ye, Joe. If it hadn't be'n fer her — 

Joe (With a glance toward Mum): Sh! 

Hallie (Enters): Uncle Joe, Mis' Hanna's at the 
back door and wants to borrow some coffee fer dinner. 

Joe: Well, give her some, Hallie. You know it's 
all right with me. 

Hallie: I didn't know what to say — they's only 
enough for our breakfast, and the stores won't be 
open that early. 

Joe: Well, let 'er have it. We kin drink tea — or 



THE MAN WHO COULDN'T SAY "NO" 139 

do without. She's a pore widder an' mebbe needs it 
more'n we do. 

Hallie : All right. Just as you say. (Exits. ) 

Ab: Per the land's sake, Joe Stebbins, ef you 
ain't— 

Mum: What'd she want? What'd HalHe want? 

Joe: Oh, nothin' much, Mum. Jes' one o' the 
neighbors wanted to borry somethin'. 

Mum : Well, she can't hev it whatever 'tis. We're 
jes' run to death 'ith neighbors. Borry, borry, borry! 
An' never dream o' payin' back. You'll let me end 
my days in the pore-house yit. 

Joe: Oh, guess not, Mum. We're a long ways 
from the pore-house. Paupers don't git no new wheel- 
chairs like you got las' week. (Jumps three men 
more.) That's one time I slipped one over on ye, 
Abner. (Rubs his hands and chuckles zvhile Ab 
runs his stubby fingers through his hair and wonders 
how it happened.) 

Mum : Humph ! This blame contraption '11 be 
the death o' me yit. Never kin tell when it'll start 
a-rollin' and throw me out an' break m' neck. 'Tain't 
half so comfortable as my old rocker. 

Ab : 'Tain't ? Joe, Mum wants her rocker. L's 
git it an' put her back in it an' set that no-'count 
veelocipede out on the porch. (Starts up.) 

Mum : You set right still, Ab Ellis. Joe got this 
fer me an' I ain't goin' to be so ongrateful as not to 
use it ef it does nearly kill me to set in it an' if I am 
skeered t' death of it. 

Ab (Reseating himself and chuckling): She 



140 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

wouldn't give up that comftable wheel-chair fer a 
farm! 

Joe: Oh, well, ole folks is queer. King, Ab! 
Crown him! (Hallie comes galloping in — Eddie 
driving her by her apron strings.) 

Eddie (Hits her) : Giddap, giddap ! 

Hallie (Stopping): Whoa! (Above table.) 

Eddie: Giddap! giddap! (Whips her with stick 
he carries.) 

Hallie: Keep still a minute, Eddie. 

Eddie: Well, go on, then. 

Joe: Don't be so rough, Eddie. 

Hallie: Uncle Joe, there's a man at the back 
door — a tramp, I guess, says he's hungry. 

Joe: (Absorbed in game): Give him somethin' 
t' eat, honey. You know I don't never turn no one 
away hongry. 

Hallie: But there's only some mashed taters left 
— and I was countin' on them fer tater cakes to- 
morrow. We et all the ham. 

Joe : Give him the pertaters. We kin go 'thout — 
or cook some more. Ain't they none of the ham left? 

Hallie : Nope. 

Joe : Fix up what ye kin. Pore feller, I expect 
he needs food wusser'n we do. Make him some 
coffee, Hallie. 

Hallie: Th' ain't none. Mis' Hanna borrowed 
it. 

Joe : Oh, yes, that's so. Well, give 'im a cup o' 
tea or somethin'. Anything we've got. 

Hallie: All right. 

Eddie (Hits her): Giddap, giddap! 



THE MAN WHO COULDN'T SAY "NO" 141 

Hallie: Eddie, behave! (They exit.) 

Ab: Now, Joe, if ye'd V killed th' ole hen ye 
planned to hev for dinner they'd V be'n plenty to 
feed yer tramp. 

Joe: I suppose so. Td oughta killed her. Pore 
ole thing ! But I felt so sorry f er her — cluckin' away 
— with all her chicks took from her — that when I 
went out to ketch her an' wring her neck, — I jes' 
didn't have the heart. Smoke, Abner? (Gets up— 
gets can of tobacco from shelf up hack of stove. They 
fill pipes. Smoke and play, Mum coughs. Fans her- 
self with handkerchief. Abner, unnoticed by Joe, 
blows smoke her way.) 

Ab (Referring to move he has just made): I 
guess that'll hold you fer a while. Ye're so fresh 
with yer derned ole king. 

Mum (Fanning): Pesky ole stinkin' pipes! 

Joe (Looking up) : What's the matter, Mum ? Too 
strong fer you ? Well, we'll quit. (Pipe aside.) 

Mum : Never mind. Don't quit on my account. 
Pd leave the room ef I could— but I can't do nothin' 
but set like a dratted Chinese idol. (Coughs.) 

Ab (Smoking): Turn the wheel, Mum. You kin 
go wherever you want. 

Mum: Eh? 

Ab: Turn the stecrin' wheel. 

Mum: Pm too old to learn new tricks. I wasn't 
cut out for a chufifer. I be'n helpless fer eleven years 
an' I reckon Pll continue so t' the day o' my death. 

Joe: Want to go to your room, Mum? (Rising.) 

Mum : I reckon Pve set an' watched you gamblers 
on the Lord's Day an' inhaled yer smellin' ole pipes 



142 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

long 'nough. (Joe goes to move her.) Let be! Let 
be! Where's that girl? 

Joe (Goes up L., calls): Hallie, Hallie. Mum 
wants you. 

Hallie (Enters wiping her arms): What is it, 
Mum? 

Mum : Take me into my room, Hallie. These 
men air a-gamblin' an' a-carryin' on. They'll be 
drinkin' next. (Hallie wheels her grumbling into 
room C.) 

Ab (Referring to Hallie): There's a good little 
gal. 

Joe (Resuming game): She sure is. Just like a 
little sunbeam round the house. It was a 
lucky day fer me when I tuk that little orphan in 
my house. 

Ab (Joking): Jes' cause you "felt sorry fer the 
pore little thing" when her maw died. 

Joe: She needed a home. Never had no paw, I 
guess, no one seemed to want her so, nacherally, I 
tuk her. 

Ab : Nacherally. 

Joe : Don't be sourcastic, Abner. I didn't get sold 
that time. I dunno what I'd do 'thout her. 

Ab: Yes, she was a good investment. But it'd 'a' 
been the same if she hadn't. You wouldn't 'a' been 
no wiser. Mr. E. Z. Mark. That's what your name 
ought 'a' been, Joe. 

Joe: Now, Abner, jes' 'cause we're sich old 
frien's — 

Ab: I'm privileged to roast you. That's what 
friends is fer, ain't they, to pint out yer faults? 



THE MAN WHO COULDNT SAY "NO" 143 

Joe: If that's so, Ab, you sure been a good friend 
to me. 

Ab : My lord, you need it ! You make me so durn 
mad, Joe — so durn mad — that sometimes I'm jest 
hoppin'. 

Joe: Go on hoppin', Ab. No one minds it. 'S 
your move. (Eddie comes in and gets in his father's 
way — leaning languidly against his arm.) 

Eddie: Paw, I wanna go skatin'. Paw, can't I? 

Joe: Not to-day, buddy. Sun's too warm. I'm 
'fraid 'tain't safe. 

Eddie : Aw — paw. 

Joe: Move around the table, son; you're crowdin' 
paw's arm. 

Eddie (Moves to back of table. Whining): Aw, 
paw, why can't I? 

Joe: 'Tain't safe. 

Eddie: Jilly Baker's paw's let him go. 

Ab (Cornering Joe): Now whatcha goin' to do? 
(Joe studies deeply.) 

Eddie: Paw — can't I — huh? 

Joe: Don't tease, sonny. 

Eddie : Well, can't I— paw ? Huh ? can't I ? Oh, 
pl-e-ease — paw. 

Ab: Your paw said ''no." Let that settle it. 

Eddie : You shet yer mouth. 'Tain't your put in. 

Ab: 'Tain't, eh? I'll show ye. (Makes a grab 
for Eddie who eludes him to R. In the scuffle the 
checker-board is disarranged). Now you played 
hell! You dog-goned little aggravatin' scamp! If 
I's yer paw I'd lam the life out o' you! 

Eddie (Dancing and wriggling fingers to his nose): 



144 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

You ain't my paw, see? You ain't my paw. What- 
cha goin' to do about it? 

Ab (Sitting) : You come pesterin' 'round here again 
an' ril show ye ! 

Eddie : Ho, yes, you will ! 

Joe: Eddie, now — ^behave yourself. This is the 
Sabbath Day. (They reset the checkers.) I reckon 
we'll hev to start fresh, Abner. 

Eddie (On the back of Joe^s chair): Paw, why 
can't I go skatin'? 

Joe : I told ye. 

Eddie (Blubbering) : But why can't I? 'Tain't no 
fun setting' 'round the house all day? 

Joe: Your move, Ab. Keep still, Eddie. 

Eddie: Jest a lettle while, paw. I won't go fur 
from the shore. I'll be jes' as careful. Can't I, paw, 
huh? 

Joe (Looking speculatively out of the window): 
Well, now — I — 

Eddie (With renewed animation): Jest fer ten 
minutes? Huh? (To R. of Joe.) 

Joe: Well, now, I dunno. (Looks reflectively at 
Eddie.) 

Ab: If 'tain't safe, Joe, tell him no an' be done 
with it. (Eddie makes a face at Ab.) 

Joe: Oh, I don't ezzactly know it ain't safe. The 
sun's pretty warm to-day — 

Eddie (At window): The other boys is skatin'. 

Joe: Well, run on fer a little while. Bundle up 
good — an' be careful. 

Eddie (Cheerfully) : I will, paw. (Up to hall tree 
— puts on cap and coat.) 



THE MAN WHO COULDN'T SAY "NO" 145 

Joe (Over his shoulder): Put yer muffler 'round 
yer neck and pull yer cap down good over yer ears. 

Eddie : All right, I will. (Goes out slamming the 
door.) 

Ab (Gets up — hands in pockets and stalks.) 

Joe: What's the matter? Tired? 

Ab: No, I ain't tired— /^/ayiV. But I am tired 
playin' with such a durn fool! I be'n a-comin' here 
Sundays to play checkers with you fer five years — 
ever since yer wife run away and lef ' you ; and ever' 
durn Sunday it's be'n the same thing. You don't put 
yer mind on the game— lettin' folks pull an' haul ye 
this way an' that! Joe Stebbins, can't ye never say 
*'no" to nobody ? 

Joe: W'y, I reckon I could — but I don't usually. 

Ab (Sarcastically): No, you don't usually. The 
kid an' that ole woman — 

Joe : Sh, Abner, Mum'U hear you ! 

Ab : I don't keer a cuss who hears me ! Pull an' 
haul ye aroun' by the nose I The neighbors impose on 
ye an' laff at ye behin' yer back! 'Cause ye're so 
cussed easy — so dog-gone "sorry" for ever'thing ! Oh, 
you— you — make me sick ! (Stalks to the window and 
stands looking out.) 

Joe (Up): Vm sorry, Abner; if I affect you like 
that I shouldn't think ye'd come nigh me no more. 

Ab (Wheeling): But you know I will. I'll keep 
on a-comin' ever' Sunday till one er other of us is tuk. 
I like ye, Joe — you're m' best friend, but, my God, 
you do make me so mad! (Tramps L.) 

Joe (Getting tobacco and laughing) : Aw, come on. 
Fill up yer pipe again an' le's hev another game. 



146 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

(Comes down and puts his hand on Ah's shoulder.) 
I'll mind my knittin' this time — honest I will. 

Ab (Sits grumbling): That kid'll break yer heart 
yit, Joe — lettin' him run over you the way you do. 

Joe (Sits): I guess my heart's pretty tough. It's 
stood a good lot o' strainin'. 

Ab: But some day she's all the apter to go pop 
'count o' th' strainin' she's had. 

Joe: I thought It was goin' to go pop sure, pard- 
ner, that time — when she — when June — left. 

Ab: Five years ago las' week. (Sigh.) 'T 'uz 
yer own fault, Joe. 

Joe: What could I V done? 

Ab: You could 'a' done what she wanted ye to — 
pulled up stakes an' went away to a big town where 
they'd 'a' been a chancet fer ye to make somethin' of 
yerself. 

Joe: What'd I 'a' done with Mum? 

Ab: Took her with you — 

Joe : But she wouldn't go. 

Ab : If she wouldn't go with you and June, let her 
set an' sulk it out. 'Twouldn't 'a' hurt her none. 
She'd 'a' been took care of. 

Joe : No, I couldn't 'a' done that — an' her helpless 
an' all. 

Ab: No, you couldn't leave her. Instead you let 
yer young wife fret herself mos' to death — shet up 
here with a cantankerous ole woman an' a squallin' kid 
tel she jest couldn't stand it no longer. 

Joe : It was her duty to me. 

Ab : An' what about your duty to her ? With some 
girls it'd 'a' been all right, but June was different. 



THE MAN WHO COULDNT SAY "NO" 147 

She didn't belong here in diis Uttle one-hoss town. She 
was meant for other things — she was capable — she 
could V helped you make somethin' of yourself somers 
else. 

Joe : Poor soul ! I ain't blamin' her none. I know 
I wasn't a fit mate for her, so soft an' pretty an* gay. 
'Twas like yokin' up a little Shetlan' pony an' a big 
farm-hoss to the same plough. Still, she hadn't ought 
'a' done what she did to me an' the boy — 

Ab : She didn't leave ye fer no other man, 
did she? 

Joe : No, she never done that. 

Ab: No! She just left because she couldn't stand 
it no longer. That ole woman's naggin' — an' settin' 
the boy up to all sorts of meanness — 

Joe : Abner, Mum's old, an' she can't walk — 

Ab : I ain't sayin' she ain't ole, but it's my private 
opinion publicly expressed that she could 'a' walked 
years ago if she'd tried. 

Joe : Abner, ain't that kinda un-Christian. You 
don't think Mum'd pertend — 

Ab: I don't think she's pertendin' now. But it's 
dollars to doughnuts pertendin' had a lot to do with 
makin' her as helpless as she is now. You know 
yourself Doc Sellers never could understand why she 
couldn't walk after her leg got healed. 

Joe: Doc Sellers never was a very kind-hearted 
man. Alius short an' crabbed. 

Ab: Mebbeso, but he ain't no fool when it comes 
to human nature, an' I know he was puzzled some in 
Mum's case. 

Joe : He never hinted to me — 



148 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Ab: He wouldn't, knowin' it'd only hurt yer 
feelin's. (Distant cries off R.) 

Joe: Well, le's drop it, Abner. Mum may have 
her faults but we got to make allowances. Let's have 
another game. (They seat themselves.) 

Ab (Apologetically): I can't help gittin' he't up 
v/hen I see how her an' that kid puts it over on you, 
you pore ole easy-goin' goose, ye! 'F I didn't like 
ye so durn well I wouldn't say a word. You know 
that, don't ye? 

Joe (Grinning): Shore. It's all right, Abner. I 
know I'm a dunce, so we'll call it square. (They set 
the hoard.) All done with the dishes, honey? (Hallie 
comes in from L., her kitchen apron removed — and 
crosses to the window.) 

Hallie : Yes, Uncle Joe, fer to-day. Sunday's a 
fine day fer me — only have to wash 'em twicet. 

Joe : Pore women ! Seems selfish in us men to take 
a day's rest when they never seem to git to. 

Ab: 'S good fer 'em, Joe. Keep's 'em out o' mis- 
chief to be busy. Don't it, Hallie? 

Hallie : I reckon. Still I don't think a day off now 
and then would hurt anybody. 

Joe : Course it wouldn't. Uncle Abner's just pokin' 
fun. He ain't no tyrant. He voted fer women's suf- 
frage. 

Hallie (Surprised) : Did ye ? 

Ab : G'wan now ! Course I didn't. I don't want 
no petticoat gover'ment over me. 

Joe: Ye don't? I betchye, Ab, if we had a woman 
marshal you'd be gittin' locked up Dncet a week jest 
fer the fun of havin' her 'rest ye. 



THE MAN WHO COULDN'T SAY "NO" 149 

Ab (Indignantly): Nothin' o' the sort. 'Sides no 
woman could arrest nobody. They'd be like you — too 
"sorry fer the pcre feller." (Chuckles.) 

Hallie (Hotly): Uncle Joe's good. He's really 
sorry when he says he is. He's the best man on 
earth. 

Ab (Applauds): Votes fer Women! Votes fer 
Women! Hooray! Ye're some little champeen, 
Hallie. 

Joe : That's right, Hallie ; don't ye let no one pan 
yer Uncle Joe. 

Hallie (Defiantly) : Don't intend to. (Gets zvraps.) 
I'm a-goin' over to Wallace's fer a spell, 

Joe: All right, Hallie. Move. Look out fer that 
man, Abner. (Hallie exits R.) 

Ab: I'm a-lookin' out. I like to git a rise out o' 
that kid. She's shore loyal to you. 

Joe: Bless her little heart. She's a good child. 
(Gets up to get a match — glances out of the zmndow 
on his return.) What's all the excitement ? 

Ab : Where ? 

Joe: Down by the crick. Looks like they's some- 
thing happened. 

Hallie (Rushes in) : Uncle Joe ! Uncle Joe ! Some 
one's drownded ! 

Ab and Joe: Drownded? Who? 

Hallie: Oh, I don't know. (Crying.) I thought 
I heard 'em say — 

Joe (Up, takes her by shoulder): Ye heard what! 
—Hallie ! 

Hallie : Oh, Uncle Joe, come ! come, quick ! (Runs 
out.) 



150 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Joe: Great God — Eddie! (Rushes out — Ab govs 
up and grabs wraps and after him.) 

Ab : Here, Joe ! Joe ! Here, wait ! It can't be him ! 
(Takes Joe^s hat and coat and his own and goes out 
leaving the door open.) 

Mum (Calls from her room): Hallie! Hallie! 
(Strikes on the door with her stick.) Joe ! Joe ! 
Where air ye all ? (A fumbling — the door opens.) Joe, 
where air ye ? The door's open ! All gone an' left the 
door open ! An' lef ' me t' git my death o' cold. What 
on airth's the matter? (Struggles with chair and fin- 
ally wheels it down — shuts door with stick — zvhcels to 
window.) Drat the thing! What's goin' on? Land, 
what a crowd o' folks. (Hallie rushes in leaving door 
open and dashes into Mum's room.) 

Hallie (Panting. Tearing blankets off bed): Ed- 
die fell in the crick! They just got him out! I guess 
he's drownded ! (Rushes out zvith blankets leaving the 
door open.) 

Mum (Catching the excitement): What? What? 
I can't hear a word you say ! Land sakes ! Shet the 
door ! Have ye all gone crazy ? Now how'm I goin' l' 
git this infernal contraption turned around to shet that 
door? Much they care ef I git my death o' cold, so 
long's they're com f 'table. (Struggles to turn chair. 
Hallie enters, then Joe with Eddie wrapped in blankets 
in his arms. Abner follows azved and silent. Hallie 
indicates Mum's room.) 

Hallie : Lay him in there. I'll get some hot water. 
(Darts into dining-room. Joe takes Eddie into Mum's 
room and lays him. on the bed — a group of neighbors 
who have followed congregate outside the door and 



THE MAN WHO COULDN'T SAY "NO" 151 

talk — a fezv edge into the room. The village doc- 
tor bustles through the croud putting them aside 
hriiskly.) 

Doctor: Now, then! Now, then! out of my way! 
(Puts them out closing the door — goes into room — puts 
Joe kindly hut firmly out. Ahner remains in Mum's 
room with doctor — the door is closed — Joe staggers 
wearily dozvn to right of the table and sits with his 
head on his arms.) 

Mum (IV ho has been fidgeting and frantic with 
excitement): What's the matter, Joe? Joe! Air ye 
all crazy ? (Ahner enters from room — comes dozmt and 
puts his hand on Joe's shoulder — pats it a feiv times. 
There is a silence. Hallie hurries quietly into upper 
room, closing the door softly.) 

Joe (Brokenly): It was my fault, Abner! All my 
fault! Oh, my God! what'd I ever let him go fer? 
Why can't I say "no" ? I'm so weak ! It's lost me 
ever'thing I ever had on airth. 

Ab: Not ever'thing, ole friend. (Joe reaches up 
and clasps the hand on his shoulder.) Besides we 
ain't sure — Doc may fetch him around all right. 

Joe: I don't darst to hope. It's jedgment on me, 
Abner. I had it comin' to me. I ain't got 
no hope. 

Ab: Now, now, now, now! Brace up! I'll go 
see how things is gittin' on. Mebbe I kin be some help. 
(Exits hlozving nose loudly.) 

Joe: Oh, my God, give me a chance — give me a 
chance ! 

Hallie (Coming from room) : He ain't dead ! His 
eyes is openin'. (Runs out left.) 



152 A BOOK OF ONE- ACT PLAYS 

Joe: Alive! (Rushes into upper room.) Eddie! 
Eddie! 

Mum (Who has caught a glimpse of Hallie) : Hal- 
lie! What under the sun is the matter, I ask ye. 
(Abner enters.) Hallie ! Abner Ellis ! Ef you don't 
speak up an' tell me I'll wrop this stick around your 
shins ef it's the last act of my life ! (Threatens him 
zmth cane.) 

Ab (At Mum's left — shouting): Eddie broke 
through the ice! 

(Joe enters with Eddie in a blanket. Sits at table 
rocking him and murmuring over him — Hallie enters 
and speaks unth doctor in room up R.) 

Mum: Mercy! He ain't drownded, is he? 

Ab : No ! (Goes behind and a little to left of table.) 

Mum : No business foolin' on the ice on the Lord's 
Day. He'd oughta be spanked. What'd ye let him 
go fer, Joe? 

Joe : 'Cause I'm a fool, Mum. 'Cause I couldn't 
say "no." 

Eddie (Stirring in his blankets — weakly) : Paw ! 

Joe: Yes, honey. What does paw's pore little 
feller want? 

Eddie: Can't I never go skatin' no more just cause 
I fell in an' got all wet? 

Joe (Holding him closer) : Oh, don't talk about it, 
sonny. 

Eddie (Weak but persistent): But can't I? 

Joe : No, buddy, not fer a long, long time. 

Eddie: How long? T'-morrow? 

Joe: No, no! 



THE MAN WHO COULDN'T SAY "NO" 153 

Eddie (Whimpering): Jes' fer a little while— a 
little, teeny while ? Huh ? Paw, can't I ? 

Joe (Rocking him) : Sh ! Sh ! There, there, don't 
cry, honey. Paw'll see ! (Abner in despair turns up 
his collar— pulls his cap over his ears and is stalking 
tozmrd the door disgustedly tvhen the curtain falls.) 

Second Curtain : Hallie is letting doctor out the 
door. Joe is rocking Eddie oblivious to all else. Mum 
with her Bible. 



THE DEACON»S HAT 

From the volume of Three Welsh Plays 

By 

Jeannette Marks 



JEANETTE MARKS 

Jeanette Marks received her A. B. and A. M. de- 
grees from Wellesley. She is now Professor and 
Head of the Department of EngHsh Literature at 
Mount Holyoke. Miss Marks is well known not only 
as a lecturer and teacher, although there is many a 
student who keeps as among her most cherished 
memories the hours spent in Miss Marks' class room, 
but for her stories, novels, essays, poems, and short 
plays as well. 

"Miss Marks knows and loves children; she is as 
good a playmate as she is a story-teller. Not only does 
she know how to write serious books for grown-ups ; 
many a youngster has read The Cheerful Cricket and 
Tommy Beaver Tails, or the charming story-told 
science books of which she is the co-author." 

Besides these several children's books and work for 
the magazines. Miss Marks has published English 
Pastoral Drama, Through Welsh Doorways, a volume 
of short stories ; The End of a Song, a Welsh novel ; 
Gallant Little Wales, a travel-book ; A Girl's Student 
Days and After and Vacation Camping for Girls, in 
which she gives to girls the knowledge she has gained 
from many summers of ''roughing it" ; Leviathan, 
Early English Hero Tales, Three Welsh Plays, Chil- 
dren in the Wood Stories, Geoffrey's Window, and 
Willow Pollen (1921), a book of verse. Miss Marks 
will publish her first full length play in a few weeks, 
and she has in preparation more one-act Welsh plays. 

The Welsh plays are perhaps the best known of 
Miss Marks* work. The author herself tells of the 

156 



THE DEACON'S HAT 157 

beginning of her interest in Wales. "I saw some pic- 
tures of North Wales and the instant I saw these pic- 
tures I knew that I was going there. I went, and 
there I found my tongue and my pen, and I have gone 
back year after year in love still with Wales and the 
joy of learning how to write." 

The original Welsh plays took the Welsh National 
Theatre first prize in 1911, and have been published 
separately and in many collections ; they have also 
been used as a text for study in many school and col- 
lege class rooms, among these Amherst, The Uni- 
versity of Texas, The University of Nebraska, The 
University of Minnesota, etc. There have been a 
large number of productions of these Welsh plays in 
the United States. 

THE DEACON'S HAT 

This play is taken from a volume of three Welsh 
plays by Jeanette Marks, our only one-act plays repre- 
senting the life and character of the Welshman. The 
characters tell subtle, humorous stories. In an unusual 
situation we see portrayed here the wit of man and 
woman pitted against each other. And probably Neli 
would have won had not the deacon's eloquence for a 
moment overcome her native shrewdness. Shall not 
"salvation" win over "soap" since "there's no money 
in theology"? At any rate the reader is content to 
leave the deacon unvanquished. 

(Copyrighted. Applications to produce The Deacon's Hat 
should be addressed to the author's publishers, Little, Brown 
& Company, Boston, Massachusetts.) 



THE DEACON'S HAT 

CHARACTERS 

Deacon Roberts, a stout oldish Welshman. 

Hugh Williams, an earnest visionary young man 

who owns Y Gegin. 
Neli Williams, his capable wife. 
Mrs. "Jones, the Wash, a stout kindly woman who 

wishes to buy soap. 
Mrs. Jenkins, the Midwife, after pins for her latest 

baby. 
Tom Morris, the Sheep, who comes to buy tobacco 

and remains to pray. 

Scene : A little shop called Y Gegin (The Kitchen) 
in Bala, North Wales. 

Time: Monday morning at half -past eleven. 

To the right is the counter of Y Gegin, set out with 
a bountiful supply of groceries; behind the counter 
are grocery-stocked shelves. Upon the counter is a 
good-sized enamel-ware bowl filled with herring 
pickled in brine and leek, also a basket of fresh eggs, 
a jar of pickles, some packages of codfish, a half-dozen 
loaves of bread, a big round cheese, several pounds of 
butter wrapped in print paper, etc., etc. 

To the left are a cheerful glowing fire and ingle. 
158 



THE DEACON'S HAT 159 

At the back center is a door; hetzvcen the door and 
the fire stands a grandfather's clock with a shining 
brass face. Betzvecn the clock and the door, back 
center, is a small tridarn (Welsh dresser) and a chair. 
From the rafters hang flitches of bacon, hams, bunches 
of onions, herbs, etc. On either side of the fireplace 
are latticed itmidozvs, shozving a glimpse of the street. 
Before the fire is a small, round three-legged table, 
beside it a tall straight-backed chair. 

Betzueen the table and left is a door zvhich is the 
entrance to Y Gegin and from zvhich, on a metal elbozv, 
dangles a large bell. 

At rise of curtain Hugh Williams enters at back 
center, absorbed in reading a volume of Welsh theo- 
logical essays. He is dressed in a brightly striped 
vest, a short, heavy cloth coat, cut away in front and 
zvith lapels trimmed with brass buttons, szvallowtails 
behind, also trimmed with brass buttons, stock wound 
around his neck, and tight trousers dozvn to his boot 
tops. 

Neli Williams, his wife, a comely, capable young 
zvoman, busy zmth her knitting every instant she talks, 
is clad in her market costume, a scarlet cloak and a 
tall black Welsh beaver. Over her arm is an immense 
basket. 

Neli (Commandingly) : Hughie, put down that 
book! 

Hugh (Still going on reading): Haven't I just 
said a man is his own master, whatever! 

Neli: Hughie, ye're to mind the shop while I'm 
gone ! 



160 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Hugh (Patiently): Yiss, yiss. 

Neli : I don't think ye hear a word I am sayin* 
whatever. 

Hugh : Yiss, I hear every word ye're sayin*. 

Neli: What is it then? 

Hugh (Weakly): 'Tis all about — about — the — the 
weather whatever! 

Neli: Ye've not heard a word, an' ye're plannin' 
to read that book from cover to cover, I can see. 

Hugh (A little too quickly): Nay, I have no 
plans — (He tucks hook away in hack coat pocket 
over -hastily.) 

Neli : Hugh ! 

Hugh (Weakly): Nay, I have no plans whatever! 

Neli (Reproachfully) : Hugh — ie ! 'Twould be 
the end of sellin' anythin' to anybody if I leave ye with 
a book whatever! Give me that book! 

Hugh (Ohstinately): Nay, I'll no read the book. 

Neli : Give me that book ! 

Hugh (Rising a little): Nay. I say a man is his 
own master whatever! 

Neli (Finding the book hidden in his coat-tail 
pocket): Is he? Well, I'll no leave ye with any 
masterful temptations to be readin'. 

Hugh : Ye've no cause to take this book away 
from me. 

Neli (Opens book and starts with delight): 'Tis 
Deacon Roberts' new book on The Flamin* Wicked- 
ness of Babylon. Where did ye get it? 

Hugh (Reassured by her interest): He lent it to 
me this morning. 



THE DEACON'S HAT 161 

Neli (Resolutely) : Well, I will take it away from 
ye this noon till I am home again whatever! 

Hugh (Sulkily): Sellin' groceries is not salvation. 
They sold groceries in Babylon; Deacon Roberts says 
so. 

Neli (Looking at hook mith ill-disguised eager- 
ness) : I dunno as anybody ever found salvation by 
givin' away all he had for nothin'! 'Tis certain Dea- 
con Roberts has not followed that way. 

Hugh (Still sidkily) : A man is his own master, I 
say. 

Neli (Absent-mindedly, her nose in the hook): Is 
he? Well, indeed! 

Hugh (Crossly): Aye, he is. (Pointedly): An' 
I was not plannin' to give away the book whatever. 

Neli (Closing volume zvith a little sigh as for stolen 
delights and speaking husily): An' I am not talkin' 
about acceptin' books but about butter an' eggs an' 
cheese an' all the other groceries ! 

Hugh : Aye, ye'll get no blessin' from such world- 
liness. 

Neli (Ahsent-mindedly) : Maybe not, but ye will 
get a dinner from that unblessed worldliness an' find 
no fault, I'm thinkin'. (Her hand lingering on the 
book which she opens.) But such wonderful theology ! 
An' such eloquence! Such an understandin' of sin! 
Such glowin' pictures of Babylon ! 

Hugh: Aye, hot! I tell ye, Neli, there's no man 
in the parish has such a gift of eloquence as Deacon 
Roberts or such theology. In all Wales ye*ll not find 
stronger theology than his. 



162 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Neli : Ye have no need to tell me that ! (Looking 
for a place in which to hide the hook until she returns.) 
Have I not a deep an' proper admiration for theology ? 
Have I not had one minister an' five deacons an' a 
revivalist in my family, to say nothin' at all of one 
composer of hymns ? 

Hugh : Yiss, yiss. Aye, 'tis a celebrated family. 
I am no sayin' anythin' against your family. 

Neli : Then what ? 

Hugh (Pleadingly) : Deacon Roberts has great fire 
with which to save souls. We're needin' that book on 
Babylon's wickedness. Give it back to me, Neli ! 

Neli : Oh, aye ! (Looks at husband.) I'm not 
sayin' but that ye are wicked, Hugh, an' needin' these 
essays, for ye have no ministers and deacons and 
hymn composers among your kin. 

Hugh (Triumphantly) : Aye, aye, that's it! That's 
it! An' the more need have I to read till my nostrils 
are full of the smoke of — of Babylon. 

Neli (Absent-mindedly tucking book away on shelf 
as she talks): Aye, but there has been some smoke 
about Deacon Roberts' reputation which has come 
from some fire less far away than Babylon. 

Hugh : What smoke ? 

Neli (Evasively): Well, I am thinkin* about my 
eggs which vanished one week ago to-day. There was 
no one in that mornin' but Deacon Roberts. Mrs. 
Jones the Wash had come for her soap an' gone before 
I filled that basket with eggs. 

Hugh (Watching her covertly, standing on tiptoe 
and craning his neck as she stows away book) : Yiss, 
yiss! 



THE DEACON'S HAT 163 

Neli (Slyly): Ask Deacon Roberts if cats steal 
eggs whatever? 

Hugh (Repeating): If cats steal eggs, if cats steal 
eggs. 

Neli : Aye, not if eggs steal cats. 

Hugh (Craning neck): Yiss, yiss, if eggs steal 
cats! 

Neli: Hugh — ie! Now ye'll never get it correct 
again! 'Tis if cats steal eggs. 

Hugh (Sulkily): Well, I'm no carin' about cats 
with heaven starin' me in the face. 

(Neli turns about swiftly with the quick sudden mo- 
tions characteristic of her, and Hugh shrinks into 
himself. She shakes her finger at him and goes over 
to kiss him.) 

Neli : Hughie lad, ye're not to touch the book 
while I am gone to market. 

Hugh : Nay, nay, certainly not ! 

Neli : And ye're to be on the lookout for Mrs. 
Jones the Wash, for Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife — 
Jane Elin has a new baby, an' it'll be needin' somethin'. 
(Pointing to counter): Here is everythin' plainly 
marked. Ye're not to undersell or give away anythin'. 
D' ye hear? 

Hugh: Aye, I hear! 

Neli : An' remember where the tobacco is, for this 
is the day Tom Morris the Sheep comes in. 

Hugh : Aye, in the glass jar. 

Neli: Good-by. I will return soon. 

Hugh (Indifferently): Good-by. 

(Neli leaves by door at back center. Immediately 



164 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Hugh steals toward the shelves where she hid the 
hook.) 

Neli (Thrusting head hack in): Mind, Hughie 
lad, no readin' — nay, not even any theology! 

Hugh (Stepping quickly away from shelves and re- 
peating parrot-like) : Nay, nay, no readin', no ser- 
mons, not even any theology ! 

Neli : An' no salvation till I come back ! (She 
smiles, withdraws head, and is gone. Hugh starts 
forward, collides clumsily with the counter in his 
eagerness, knocks the hasket of eggs with his elhow, 
upsetting it. Several eggs hreak. He shakes his head 
ruefully at the mess and as ruefully at the counter. 
He finds hook and hugs it greedily to him.) 

Hugh (Mournfully): Look at this! What did I 
say but that there was no salvation sellin' groceries! 
If Neli could but see those eggs! (He goes behind 
counter and gets out a box of eggs, from which he re- 
fills the basket. The broken eggs he leaves untouched 
upon the floor. He opens his volume of sermons and 
seats himself by a little three-legged table near the 
fire. He sighs in happy anticipation. Hearing a 
slight noise, he looks suspiciously at door, gets up, tip- 
toes across floor to street door, and locks it quietly. 
An expression of triumph overspreads his face.) Ha, 
if customers come, they will think no one is at home 
whatever, an' I can read on! (He seats himself at 
little three-legged table, opens volume, smooths over 
its pages lovingly, and begins to read slowly and halt- 
ing over syllables.) "The smoke of Ba-by-lon was hot 
— scorchin' hot. An' 'twas filled with Ba-ba-ba-baal 
stones, slimy an' scorchin' hot also — " (There is the 



THE DEACON'S HAT 165 

sound of feet coming up the shop steps, followed by a 
hand trying the door-knob. Hugh looks up from his 
sermons, an expression of innocent triumph on his 
face. The door-knob is tried again, the door rattled. 
Then some one rings the shop door-bell.) 

Mrs. Jones the Wash (Calling): Mrs. Williams, 
mum, have ye any soap? (No answer. Calling): 
Mrs. Williams! Mrs. Williams! 

(Hugh nods approvingly and lifts his volume to 
read.) 

Mrs. Jones the Wash : Where are they all what- 
ever? I will just look in at the window. (A large 
kindly face is anxiously flattened against the window. 
At that Hugh drops in consternation under the three- 
legged table.) Uch, what's that shadow skippin' under 
the table? No doubt a rat after the groceries. Mrs. 
Williams, mum, Mrs. Williams! Well, indeed they're 
out. (She pounds once more on the door with a 
heavy fist, rings, and then goes. Suddenly the door 
back center opens, and Neli Williams appears.) 

Neli (She does not see Hugh and peers around for 
him): W^hat is all that bell-ringing about? (Hugh 
crawls out from under table.) 

Hugh : Hush, she's gone ! 

Neli (Amazed and whispering to herself) : Under 
the table! 

Hugh (Rising and putting up his hand as a sign 
for her to keep silent): Nay, 'twas Mrs. Jones the 
Wash come to buy her soap whatever ! 

Neli : Aye, well, why didn't she come in whatever ? 

Hugh (Whispering): I locked the door, Neli, so 
I could finish readin' those essays whatever! An* 



166 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

then she looked in at the window, an' I had to get under 
the table. 

Neli (Indignantly) : Locked the door against a 
customer, an' after all I said! An' crawled under a 
table! Hugh Williams, your wits are goin' quite on 
the downfall! 

Hugh (In a whisper) : Aye, but, Neli, those essays 
— an' I thought ye had gone to market. 

Neli : I had started, but I came back for my 
purse. Put down that book! 

Hugh : Aye, but, Neli — 

Neli (Angrily): Much less of heaven an' much 
more of earth is what I need in a husband! Ye have 
sent away a customer ; very like Mrs. Jones the Wash 
after soap will go elsewhere. 

Hugh : Aye, but, Neli — 

(Steps are heard approaching.) 

Neli : Get up ! Some one is coming. 

(Hugh gets up very unwillingly.) 

Hugh (Whispering still): Aye, but, Neli — 

Neli (Angrily) : Put down that book, I say ! (She 
crunches over some eggshells.) Eggs? Broken? 

Hugh (Putting down hook): Aye, Neli, my elbow 
an' the eggs in Babylon — 

Neli (Sarcastically) : Aye, I see beasts in Babylon 
here together, — doleful creatures smearin' one an' six- 
pence worth of eggs all over the floor. An' a half 
dozen eggs gone last week. (Wiping up eggs.) An' 
I'm to suppose Babylon had something to do with that 
half dozen eggs, too? They were put in the basket 
after Mrs. Jones the Wash had left whatever, an' be- 
fore Deacon Roberts came. 



THE DEACON'S HAT 167 

Hugh : Neli, I did not say — 

Neli (Still angrily): Well, indeed, unlock that 
door! 

Hugh (Going to unlock door): But, Neli — 

Neli (Disappearing through door back center): 
Not a word! Your mind has gone quite on the 
downfall — lockin' doors against your own bread and 
butter an' soap. 

Hugh (Unlocking door sullenly): But, Neli, salva- 
tion an' soap — 

Neli (Snappingly) : Salvation an' soap are as thick 
as thieves. 

Hugh : But, Neli, a man is his own master. 

Neli : Yiss, I see he is ! (Neli goes out, slamming 
door noisily.) 

Hugh : Dear anwyl, she seems angry ! (Hugh 
opens street door left just as Neli goes out through 
kitchen, by door back center. Deacon Roberts enters 
the door Hugh has unlocked. He looks at Hugh, 
smiles, and goes over to counter in a businesslike way. 
He is a stout man, dressed in a black broadcloth cut- 
away coat, tight trousers, a drab vest, high collar and 
stock, woolen gloves, a muffler wound about his neck 
and face, and a tall Welsh beaver hat. Under his arm 
he carries a book.) 

Deacon Roberts (Speaking affectionately, pidling 
off his gloves, putting dozvn book on counter, and be- 
ginning eagerly to touch the various groceries): 
Essays on Babylon to-day, Hughie lad? 

Hugh (Looking about for Neli and speaking fret- 
fully): Nay. 



168 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Deacon Roberts (Unzmnding his muMer): Ye 
look as if ye had been in spiritual struggle. 

Hugh (Drearily): I have. 

Deacon Roberts: Well, indeed, Hughie, *tis 
neither the angel nor the archfiend here now, nor for 
me any struggle except the struggle to both live an' 
eat well — ho! ho! an* eat well, I say — in Bala. 
(Laughs jovially.) Ho ! ho ! not bad, Hughie lad, — 
live an' eat in Bala ! 

Hugh (Patiently): With that muffler around your 
head. Deacon, ye are enough to frighten the devil out 
of Babylon. 

Deacon Roberts (Unwinding last lap of miifFler): 
Yiss, yiss, Hughie lad. But I dunno but ye will 
understand better if I call myself, let us say the angel 
with the sickle — ^ho! ho! — not the angel of fire, 
Hughie, but the angel with the sharp sickle gatherin' 
the clusters of the vines of the earth. (Sudden change 
of subject.) Where is Neli? 

Hugh (Vacantly) : I dunno — yiss, yiss, at market. 

Deacon Roberts (Chuckling): Dear, dear, at 
market — a fine day for marketing! An' my essays on 
the Flamin' Wickedness of Babylon, Hughie lad, how 
are they? Have ye finished them? 

Hugh : Nay, not yet. 

Deacon Roberts (Looking over counter, touching 
one article after another as he mentions it.) Pickled 
herrin' — grand but wet ! Pickles — dear me, yiss, 
Neli's — an' good! Butter from Hafod-y-Porth — 
sweet as honey! (He picks up a pat of butter and 
sniffs it, drawing in his breath loudly. He smiles with 
delight and lays down the butter. He takes off- his hat 



THE DEACON'S HAT 169 

and dusts it out inside. He puts his hat hack on his 
head, smiles, chuckles, picks up butter, taps it thought- 
fully zmth two fingers, smells it and puts dozvn the pat 
lingeringly. He lifts up a loaf of Neli Williams' 
bread, glancing from it to the butter.) Bread ! Dear 
me ! (His eyes glance on to codfish.) American cod- 
fish, (picks up package and smacks his lips loudly) 
dear anwyl, with potatoes — (reads) "Gloucester." 
(Reaches out and touches eggs affectionately.) Eggs 
— are they fresh, Hugh? 

Hugh (Dreamily): I dunno. But I broke some 
of them. They might be ! (Looks at floor.) 

Deacon Roberts: Were they fresh? 

Hugh : I dunno. 

Deacon Roberts (Sharply) : Dunno ? About eggs ? 
(Picks up egg.) 

Hugh (Troubled): NeU's hens laid them. 

Deacon Roberts: I see, Neli's hens laid 'em, an* 
you broke 'em! Admirable arrangements! (Putting 
down the egg and turning fozvard the cheese, speaks 
on impatiently.) Well, indeed, then, were the hens 
fresh ? 

Hugh (More cheerful) : Yiss, I think. Last week 
the basket was grand an' full of fresh eggs, but they 
disappeared, aye, they did indeed. 

Deacon Roberts (Starts) : Where did they go to ? 

Hugh (Injured): How can I say? I was here, 
an' I would have told her if I had seen, but I did not 
whatever. Neli reproves me for too great attention 
to visions an' too little to the groceries. 

Deacon Roberts (Chuckling): Aye, Hughie lad, 
such is married life! Let a man marry his thoughts 



1/0 A BOOK OF ONE- ACT PLAYS 

or a wife, for he can not have both. I have chosen 
my thoughts. 

Hugh : But the cat — 

Deacon Roberts (Briskly): Aye, a man can keep 
a cat without risk. 

Hugh : Nay, nay, I mean the cat took 'em. I 
dunno. That's it — (Hugh clutches his head, trying to 
recall something.) Uch, that's it! NeU told me to 
remember to ask ye if ye thought eggs could steal a 
cat whatever. 

Deacon Roberts (Puzded): Eggs steal a cat? 

Hugh (Troubled) : Nay, nay, cats steal an tggl 

Deacon Roberts (Startled and looking suspiciously 
at Hugh): Cats? What cats? 

Hugh (With solemnity): Aye, but I told Neli 
I'm no carin' about cats with heaven starin' me in the 
face. Deacon Roberts, those essays are grand an' 
wonderful. 

Deacon Roberts (Relieved): Yiss, yiss! Hughie 
lad, theology is a means to salvation an' sometimes to 
other ends, too. But there's no money in theology. 
(Sighs.) And a man must live ! (Points to cor- 
roded dish of pickled herring, sniffing greedily.) Dear 
people, what beautiful herrin'! (Wipes moisture 
away from corners of his mouth and picks up a fish 
front dish, holding it, dripping, by tail,) Pickled? 

Hugh (Looking at corroded dish): Tuppence. 

Deacon Roberts (Shortly) : Dear to-day. 

Hugh (Eying dish dreamily): I dunno. Neli— 

Deacon Roberts (Eyes glittering, cutting straight 
through sentence and pointing to cheese): Cheese? 

Hugh: A shill', Pm thinkin'. 



THE DEACON'S HAT 171 

Deacon Roberts: A shillin', Hugh? (Deacon 
Roberts lifts knife and drops it lightly on edge of 
cheese. The leaf it pares off he picks up and thrusts 
into his mouth, greedily pushing in the crumbs. Then 
he pauses and looks slyly at Hugh.) Was it sixpence 
ye said, Hugh? 

Hugh (Gamng tozvard the fire and the volume of 
essays): Yiss, sixpence, I think. 

Deacon Roberts (Sarcastically): Still too dear, 
Hugh! 

Hugh (Sighing): I dunno, it might be dear. 
(With more animation): Deacon, when Babylon 
fell— 

Deacon Roberts (Wipes his mouth and, interrupt- 
ing Hugh, speaks decisively): No cheese. (He re- 
moves his tall Welsh beaver hat, mops off his bald 
white head, and, pointing up to the shelves, begins to 
dust out inside of hatband again but with a deliberate 
air of preparation.) What is that up there, Hughie 
lad? 

Hugh (Trying to follow the direction of the big 
red wavering forefinger) : Ye mean that? ABC 
In-fants' Food, I think. 

Deacon Roberts (Giinng his hat a final zvipcl: 
Nay, nay, not for me, Hughie lad! Come, come, 
brush the smoke of burnin* Babylon from your eyes ! 
In a minute I must be goin' back to my study, what- 
ever. An' I have need of food! 

(Hugh takes a chair and mounts it. The Deacon 
looks at Hughes back, puts his hand dozvn on the 
counter, and picks up an egg front the basket. He 
holds it to the light and squints through it to see 



172 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

whether it is fresh. Then he turns it lovingly over in 
his fat palm, makes a dexterous backward motion and 
slides it into his coat-tail pocket. This he follows with 
two more eggs for same coat tail and three for other — 
in all half a dozen.) 

Hugh (Dreamily pointing to tin): Is it Yankee 
corn? 

Deacon Roberts (To Hugh's back and slipping in 
second egg) : Nay, nay, not that, Hughie lad, that tin 
above ! 

Hugh (Absent-mindedly touching tin): Is it ox 
tongue ? 

Deacon Roberts (Slipping in third egg and not 
even looking up): Ox tongue, lad? Nay, nothin' so 
large as that. 

Hugh (Dreamily reaching up higher): American 
condensed m-m-milk ? Yiss, that's what it is. 

Deacon Roberts (Slipping in fourth egg): Con- 
densed milk, Hughie? Back to infants' food again. 

Hugh (Stretching up almost to his fidl length and 
holding down tin with tips of long white finger): 
Kippert herrin'? Is it that? 

Deacon Roberts (Slipping in fifth egg): Nay, 
nay, a little further up, if' you please. 

Hugh (Gasping, hut still reaching up and reading): 
Uto — Uto — U-to-pi-an Tinned Sausage. Is it that? 

Deacon Roberts (Slipping in sixth egg with an air 
of finality and triumph, and lifting his hat from the 
counter): Nay, nay, not that, Hughie lad. Why do 
ye not begin by askin' me what I want? Ye've no gift 
for sellin' groceries whatever. 

Hugh (Surprised) : Did I not ask ye ? 



THE DEACON'S HAT 173 

Deacon Roberts: Nay. 

Hugh: What would Neli say whatever? She 
would never forgive me. 

Deacon Roberts (Amiably): Well, I forgive ye, 
Hughie lad. 'Tis a relish, I'm needin'! 

Hugh (Relieved): Well, indeed, a relish! We 
have relishes on that shelf above, I think. (Reaches 
up but pauses helplessly.) I must tell Neli that these 
shelves are not straight. (Dizzy and clinging to the 
shelves, his back to the Deacon.) 

Deacon Roberts (Picking up a pound of butter 
wrapped in print paper): Is it up there? 

Hugh : No, I think, an' the shelves are not fast 
whatever. I must tell Neli. They go up like wings. 
(Trying to reach a bottle just above him.) Was it 
English or American? 

Deacon Roberts (Putting the pound of butter in his 
hat and his hat on his head) : American, Hughie lad. 

(At that instant there is a noise from the inner 
kitchen, and Neli Williams opens the door. The 
Deacon turns, and their glances meet and cross. Each 
understands perfectly what the other has seen. Neli 
Williams has thrown off her red cloak and taken off 
her Welsh beaver hat. She is dressed in a short fidl 
skirt, white stockings, clogs on her feet, a striped 
apron, tight bodice, fichu, short sleeves, and ivhite cap 
on dark hair.) 

Neli (Slozvly) : Uch! The Deacon has what he 
came for whatever! 

Hugh (Turning to cont7'adict his wife): Nay, 
Neli, — (Losing his balance on chair, tumbles off, and, 
with arm Hung out to save himself, strikes dish of 



174 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

pickled herring. The herring and brine fly in every 
direction, spraying the Deacon and Hughie; the howl 
spins madly, dipping and revolving on the floor. For 
a few seconds nothing is audible except the bowl re- 
volving on the flagstones and Hugh picking himself up 
and sneezing behind the counter.) Achoo! Achoo! 
Dear me, Neli — achoo ! 

Neli (Going quickly to husband and beginning to 
wipe brine from husband's forehead and cheeks; at 
the same time has her back to the Deacon and form- 
ing soundless letters with her lip, she jerks her head 
toward the Deacon) : B-U-T-T-E-R ! 

Hugh (Drearily): Better? Aye, I'm better. It 
did not hurt me whatever. 

Neli (Jerking head backzvard toward Deacon 
Roberts and again forming letters with lips): 
B-U-T-T-E-R ! 

ITuCtH : What, water ? Nay, I don't want any 
water. 

Deacon Roberts (Coughing, ill at ease and glancing 
suspiciously at bozvl that has come to rest near his 
leg.) Ahem! 'Tis cold here, Mrs. Williams, mum, 
an' I must be moving' on. 

Neli (Savagely to Deacon): Stay where ye are 
whatever ! 

Deacon Roberts (Unaccustomed to being spoken to 
this way by a woman): Well, indeed, mum, I could 
stay, but I'm thinkin' 'tis cold an' — I'd better go. 

Neli (Again savagely): Nay, stay! Stay for — 
for what ye came for whatever! (Neli looks chal- 
lengingly at the Deacon. Then she goes on wiping 
brine carefully from husband's hair and from behind 



THE DEACON'S HAT 175 

his ears. The Deacon coughs and pushes bowl away 
with the toe of his boot.) 

Deacon Roberts (Smiling): 'Tis unnecessary to 
remain then, mum. 

Neli (To Hugh): What did he gtt? 
Hugh (Sneering) : N— n— achoo !— nothin' ! 
Deacon Roberts (With sudden interest looking at 
the floor): Well, indeed! 

Neli (Suspiciously) : What is it ? 
(He reaches dozvn with difficulty to a small thick 
puddle on the floor just beneath his left coat tail. He 
aims a red forefinger at it, lifts himself, and sucks 
fingertip.) 

Deacon Roberts (Smiling): Ahem, Mrs. Will- 
iams, mum, 'tis excellent herrin' brine! (From the 
basket on the counter he picks up an egg which he 
tosses lightly and replaces in basket.) A beautiful 
fresh Qgg, Mrs. Williams, mum. I must be steppin' 
homeward. 

Hugh (Struggling to speak just as Neli reaches his 
nose, zvringing it vigorously as she wipes it): Aye, 
but, Neli, I was just tellin' ye when I fell that I could 
not find the Deacon's relish — uch, achoo ! achoo ! 

Deacon Roberts (With finality, tossing the egg in 
air, catching it and putting it back in basket): Well, 
indeed, mum, I must be steppin' homewards now. 
(Nelis glance rests on fire burning on other side of 
room. She puts douii zuref cloth. She turns squarely 
on the Deacon.) 

Neli: What is your haste, Mr. Roberts? Please 
to go to the fire an' wait ! I can find the relish. 
Deacon Roberts (Hastily): Nay, nay, mum. I 



176 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

have no need any more — (Coughs.) Excellent 
herrin' brine. (Goes toward door.) 

Neli (To Hugh): Take him to the fire, Hugh. 
'Tis a cold day whatever! (Insinuatingly to Deacon): 
Have ye a reason for wantin' to go, Mr. Roberts? 

Deacon Roberts (Going): Nay, nay, mum, none 
at all ! But, I must not trouble ye. 'Tis too much to 
ask, an' I have no time to spare an' — 

Neli (Interrupting and not without acerbity): In- 
deed, Mr. Roberts, sellin' what we can is our profit. 
(To Hugh, zvho obediently takes Deacon by arm and 
pulls him toward fire): Take him to the fire, lad. 
(To Deacon): What kind of a relish was it, did ye 
say, Mr. Roberts? 

Deacon Roberts (Having a tug of war with 
Hugh): 'Tis an Indian relish, mum, but I can not 
wait. 

Hugh (Pulling harder): American, ye said. 

Deacon Roberts (Hastily): Yiss, yiss, American 
Indian relish, that is. 

Neli: Tut, 'tis our specialty, these American 
Indian relishes! We have several. Sit down by the 
fire while I look them up. (Wickedly) : As ye said, 
Mr. Roberts, 'tis cold here this morning. 

Deacon Roberts: There, Hughie lad, I must not 
trouble ye. (Looks at clock.) 'Tis ten minutes be- 
fore twelve, an' my dinner will be ready at twelve. 
(Pulls harder.) 

Neli (To Hugh) : Keep him by the fire, lad. 

Deacon Roberts: There, Hughie lad, let me go! 
(But Hugh holds on, and the Deacon's coat begins to 
come off. 



THE DEACON'S HAT 177 

Neli (Sarcastically) : The relish — American Indian, 
ye said, I think, — will make your dinner taste fine and 
grand ! 

Deacon Roberts (Finding that without leaving his 
coat behind he is unable to go, he glozuers at Hugh 
and speaks sweetly to Neli): 'Tis a beautiful clock, 
Mrs. Williams, mum. But I haven't five minutes to 
spare. 

Neli (Keeping a sharp lookout on the rim of the 
Deacon's hat): Well, indeed, I can find the relish in 
just one minute. An' ye'll have abundance of time 
left. 

Deacon Roberts (Trapped and gazing at clock with 
fine air of indifference) : 'Tis a clever, shinin' lookin' 
clock whatever, Mrs. Williams, mum. 

Neli : Have ye any recollection of the name of the 
maker of the relish, Mr. Roberts? 

Deacon Roberts (Putting his hands behind him 
anxiously and parting his freighted coat tails with 
care; then, revolving, presenting his back and one 
large well-set bright-colored patch to the fire): Nay, 
I have forgotten it, Mrs. Williams, mum. 

Neli: Too bad, but I'm sure to find it. (She 
mounts upon chair. At this moment the shop door- 
bell rings violently, and there enters Mrs. Jones the 
Wash, very fat and very jolly. She is dressed in short 
skirt very full, clogs on her feet, a bodice made of 
striped Welsh Hannel, a shabby kerchief, a cap on her 
head, and over this a shawl. Neli turns her head a 
little.) Aye, Mrs. Jones the Wash, in a minute, if 
you please. Sit down until I find Deacon Roberts' 
relish whatever. 



178 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Mrs. Jones the Wash (Sits down on chair by door 
back center and folds her hands over her stomach): 
Yiss, yiss, mum, thank you. I've come for soap. I 
came once before, but no one was in. 

Neli: Too bad! 

Mrs. Jones the Wash : An' I looked in at the 
window an' saw nothin' but a skippin' shadow, looked 
like a rat. Have ye any rats, Mrs. Williams, mum, do 
ye think? 

Neli: Have I any rats? Well, indeed, 'tis that 
I'm wantin' to know, Mrs. Jones the Wash. 

Mrs. Jones the Wash : Well, I came back, for 
the water is eatin' the soap to-day as if 'twere sweets 
— aye, 'tis a very meltin' day for soap! (Laughs.) 

Deacon Roberts: 'Tis sweet to be clean, Mrs. 
Jones the Wash. 

Mrs. Jones the Wash (Laughing) : Yiss, yiss. 
Deacon Roberts, there has many a chapel been built 
out of a washtub, an' many a prayer risen up from 
the suds! 

Deacon Roberts (Solemnly): Aye, Mrs. Jones the 
Wash, 'tis holy work, washin' is very holy work. 

Mrs. Jones the Wash (Touched): Yiss, yiss, I 
thank ye. Deacon Roberts. 

Deacon Roberts: Well, I must be steppin' home- 
ward now. 

Neli (Firmly): Nay, Mr. Roberts, I am searchin' 
on the shelf where I think that American Indian relish 
is. Ye act as if ye had some cause to hurry, Mr. 
Roberts. Wait a moment, if you please. 

Deacon Roberts: Well, indeed, but I am keepin' 
Mrs. Jones the Wash waitin' ! 



THE DEACON'S HAT 179 

Neli (To Mrs. Jones): Ye are in no haste? 

Mrs. Jones the Wash (Thoroughly comfortable 
and happy): Nay, mum, no haste at all. I am 
havin' a rest, an' 'tis grand an' warm here what- 
ever. 

Neli (Maliciously to Deacon): Does it feel hot by 
the fire? 

Deacon Roberts (Experiencing novel sensations on 
the crown of his bald head): Mrs. Williams, mum, 
'tis hot in Y Gegin, but as with Llanycil Churchyard, 
Y Gegin is only the portal to a hotter an' a bigger 
place where scorchin' flames burn forever an' forever. 
Proverbs saith, 'Hell an' destruction are never full.' 
What, then, shall be the fate of w^omen who have no 
wisdom, Mrs. Williams, mum? 

Neli (Searching for relish): Aye, what? Well, 
indeed, the men must know. 

Mrs. Jones the Wash (Nodding her head ap- 
preciatively at Hugh) : Such eloquence, Mr. Williams ! 
Aye, who in chapel has such grand theology as Deacon 
Roberts ! (She sighs. The bell rings violently again, 
and Tom Morris the Sheep enters. He is dressed in 
gaiters, a shepherd's cloak, etc., etc. He carries a 
crook in his hand. He is a grizzle-haired, rosy-faced 
old man, raw-boned, strong and azvkward, with a half- 
earnest, half-foolish look.) 

Neli (Looking around): Aye, Tom Morris the 
Sheep, come in an' sit down. I am lookin' out an 
American Indian relish for the Deacon. 

Tom Morris the Sheep: Yiss, mum. I am 
wantin' to buy a little tobacco, mum. 'Tis lonely upon 
the hillsides with the sheep, whatever. 



180 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Deacon Roberts (Hastily): I must go now, Mrs. 
Williams, mum, an' ye can wait on Tom Morris. 

Tom Morris the Sheep : Nay, nay, Mr. Roberts, 
sir, there is no haste. 

Neli (To Tom Morris): Sit down there by the 
door, if you please. (Tom Morris seats himself on 
other side of door by back center.) 

Tom Morris the Sheep: Yiss, mum. (Touches 
his forelock to Mrs. Jones the Wash.) A grand day 
for the clothes, Mrs. Jones, mum. 

Mrs. Jones the Wash : Yiss, yiss, an' as I was 
just sayin' 'tis a meltin' day for the soap ! 

Neli (Significantly) : An' perhaps 'tis a meltin' 
day for somethin' besides soap! (She looks at Dea- 
con.) 

Hugh (Earnestly) : Yiss, yiss, for souls, meltin' 
for souls, I am hopin'. (Picking up the book from the 
little three-legged table, and speaking to the Deacon): 
They are enlargin' the burial ground in Llanycil 
Churchyard — achoo ! achoo ! 

Deacon Roberts (Slyly moving a step away from 
fire): They're only enlargin' hell, Hughie lad, an' in 
that place they always make room for all. (He casts 
a stabbing look at Neli.) 

Mrs. Jones the Wash (Nodding head): True, 
true, room for all ! (Chuckling) : But 'twould be a 
grand place to dry the clothes in! 

Deacon Roberts (Severely): Mrs. Jones, mum, 
hell is paved with words of lightness. 

Hugh (Looking up from book, his face expressing 
delight): Deacon Roberts, I have searched for the 



THE DEACON'S HAT 181 

place of hell, but one book sayeth one thing, an' an- 
other another. Where is hell? 

Tom Morris the Sheep: Aye, where is hell? 

(The bell rings violently. All start except Neli. 
Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife enters. She is an old 
zvoman, zvhite-haired and with a commanding, some- 
what disagreeable expression on her face. She wears 
a cloak and black Welsh beaver and walks with a 
stick.) 

Neli: Yiss, yiss, Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife, I am 
just lookin' out a relish for the Deacon. Sit down 
by the fire, please. 

Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife (Seating herself on 
other side of fire): Aye, mum, I've come for pins; 
I'm in no haste, mum. 

Neli : Is it Jane Elin's baby ? 

Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife: Aye, Jane EHn's, 
an' 'tis my sixth hundredth birth. 

Hugh : We're discussing the place of hell, Mrs. 
Jenkins, mum. 

Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife: Well, indeed, I 
have seen the place of hell six hundred times then. 
(Coughs and nods her head up and down over stick.) 
Heaven an* hell I'm thinkin' we have with us here. 

Hugh : Nay, nay, how could that be ? Tell us 
where is the place of hell. Deacon Roberts. (All 
listen with the most intense interest.) 

Deacon Roberts (Nodding): Aye, the place of 
hell — (Stopping suddenly, a terrified look on his face, 
as the butter slides against the forward rim of his 
hat, almost knocking it off, then going on with neck 



182 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

riffid and head straight tip) — to me is known where 
is that place — their way is dark an' sHppery; they go 
down into the depths, an' their soul is melted because 
of trouble. 

Neli (Pausing skeptically) : Aye, 'tis my idea of 
hell whatever with souls meltin', Mr. Roberts. 

Hugh (Tense with expectation) : Tell us where 
is that place! 

Deacon Roberts (Neck rigid, head unmoved and 
voice queridous) : Yiss, yiss. (Putting his hand up 
and letting it down quickly.) Ahem! Ye believe 
that it rains in Bala? 

Hugh (Eyes on Deacon in childlike faith): I do. 

Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife: Yiss, yiss, before 
an' after every birth whatever! 

Mrs. Jones the Wash: Yiss, yiss, who would 
know better than I that it rains in Bala? 

Tom Morris the Sheep: Aye, amen, it rains in 
Bala upon the hills an' in the valleys. 

Deacon Roberts: Ye believe that it can rain in 
Bala both when the moon is full an' when 'tis new? 

Hugh (Earnestly) : I do. 

Mrs. Jones the Wash (Wearily): Yiss, any 
time. 

Tom Morris the Sheep: Aye, all the time. 

Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife: Yiss, yiss, it rains 
ever an' forever! 

Neli (Forgetting the relish search): Well, indeed, 
'tis true it can rain in Bala at any time an' at all 
times. 

Deacon Roberts (Paying no attention to Neli): 
Ye believe that Tomen-y-Bala is Ararat? 



THE DEACON'S HAT 183 

Hugh (Clutching his book more tightly and speak- 
ing in a whisper): Yiss. 

Mrs. Jones the Wash : Aye, 'tis true. 

Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife: Yiss, the Hill of 
Bala is Ararat. 

Tom Morris the Sheep: Yiss, I have driven the 
sheep over it whatever more than a hundred times. 

Neli (Both hands on counter, leaning forward, 
listening to Deacon's words): Aye, Charles-y-Bala 
said so. 

Deacon Roberts (Still ignoring Neli and lowering 
Jiis coat tails carefully): Ye believe, good people, 
that the Druids called Noah *Tegid," an' that those 
who were saved were cast up on Tomen-y-Bala ? 

H^UGH : Amen, I do ! 

Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife (Nodding her old 
head): Aye, 'tis true. 

Mrs. Jones the Wash : Yiss, yiss. 

Tom Morris the Sheep: Amen, 'tis so. 

Deacon Roberts (Moving a few steps away from 
the fire, standing sidewise, and lifting hand to head, 
checking it in mid-air): An' ye know that Bala has 
been a lake, an' Bala will become a lake? 

Hugh : Amen, I do ! 

Neli (Assenting for the first time): Yiss, 'tis 
true — that is. 

Mrs. Jones the Wash : Dear anwyl, yiss ! 

Deacon Roberts (With warning gesture toward 
window): Hell is out there — movin' beneath Bala 
Lake to meet all at their comin'. (Raises his voice 
suddenly.) Red-hot Baal stones will fall upon your 
heads — Baal stones. Howl, ye! (Shouting loudly.) 



184 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Meltin' stones smellin' of the bullocks. Howl, ye 
sinners! (Clasping his hands together desperately.) 
Scorchin' hot — Oo — o — o — Howl, ye ! — howl, ye ! (The 
Deacon s hat sways, and he jams it down more tightly 
on his head. Unclasping his hands and as if stirring 
up the contents of a pudding dish.) Round an' 
round like this! Howl, ye sinners, howl! (All moan 
and sway to and fro except Neli.) 

Neli (Skeptically): What is there to fear? 

Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife (Groaning): Nay, 
but what is there not to fear? 

Mrs. Jones the Wash : Aye, outermost dark- 
ness. Och ! Och ! 

Tom Morris the Sheep: Have mercy! 

Deacon Roberts (Shouting again): Get ready! 
Lift up your eyes ! (Welsh beaver almost falls off 
and is set straight in a tzuinkling.) Beg for mercy 
before the stones of darkness burn thee, an' there is 
no water to cool thy tongue, an' a great gulf is fixed 
between thee an' those who might help thee! 

Neli (Spellbound by the Deacon's eloquence and 
now oblivious to hat, etc.): Yiss, yiss, 'tis true, 'tis 
very true! (She steps down from chair and places 
hands, on counter.) 

Deacon Roberts (His face convulsed, shouting 
directly at her): Sister, hast thou two eyes to be 
cast into hell fire? 

Neli (Terrified and swept along by his eloquence): 
Two eyes to be burned? (All lozver their heads, 
groaning and rocking to and fro.) 

Deacon Roberts (The butter trickling dovm his 
face, yelling with sudden violence): Hell is here an' 



THE DEACON'S HAT 185 

now. Here in Bala, here in Y Gegin, here with us ! 
Howl, ye ! Howl, ye sinners ! (All moan together.) 
Hugh (Whispering): Uch, here! 
Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife: Yiss, here! 
Mrs. Jones the Wash : Yiss. 
Tom Morris the Sheep (Terrified): Aye. 
Amen ! Yiss ! 

Neli (Whispering) : Here in Y Gegin ! 
Deacon Roberts (Clapping his hands to his face): 
Stones of Baal, stones of darkness, slimy with ooze, 
red-hot ooze, thick vapors ! Howl, ye, howl, ye sin- 
ners! (All moan and groan. Takes a glance at 
clock, passes hand over face and runs on madly, neck 
rigid, eyes staring, fat red cheeks turning to purple.) 
Midday, not midnight, is the hour of Hell; its sun 
never sets! But who knows when comes that hour 
of Hell? 

Neli (Taking hands from counter and crossing 
them as she whispers): Who knows? 
All (Groaning): Who knows? 
Hugh (Voice quavering and lifting his Welsh 
essays): Who knows? 

Deacon Roberts (Big yellow drops pouring down 
his face, his voice full of anguish): I will tell ye 
when is the hour of Hell. (He points to the clock.) 
Is one the hour of Hell? Nay. Two? Nay. 
Three? No, not three. Four? Four might be the 
hour of Hell, but 'tis not. Five? Nor five, indeed. 
Six? Nay. Seven? Is seven the hour, the awful 
hour? Nay, not yet. Eight? Is eight the hour — 
an hour bright as this bright hour? Nay, eight is not. 
(The Deacon shouts in a mighty voice and points with 



186 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

a red finger at the clock.) 'Tis comin' ! Tis comin', 
I say! Howl, ye, howl! Only one minute more! 
Sinners, sinners, lift up your eyes! Cry for mercy! 
(All groan.) Cry for mercy! When the clock 
strikes twelve, 'twill be the hour of Hell! Fix your 
eyes upon the clock! Watch! Count! Listen! 'Tis 
strikin'. The stroke! The hour is here! 

(All, dropped on their knees and turned toward the 
clock, their hacks to the street door, are awaiting the 
azvful stroke. The book has fallen from Hugh's 
hands. Neli's hands are clenched. Mrs. Jenkins the 
Midwife is nodding her old head. Mrs. Jones the 
Wash, on her knees, her face upturned to the clock, 
is rubbing up and down her thighs as if at the busi- 
ness of washing. Tom Morris the Sheep is prostrate 
and making a strange buzzing sound between his lips. 
The wheels of the clever old timepiece zvhir and turn. 
Then in the silent noonday the hard striking begins: 
One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, 
Ten, Eleven, Twelve.) 

Deacon Roberts (Yelling suddenly in a loud and 
terrible voice) : Hell let loose ! Howl, ye ! Howl, ye 
sinners! (All cover their eyes. All groan or moan. 
The clock ticks, the flame in the grate flutters, Neli's 
bosom rises and falls heavily.) Lest worse happen 
to ye, sin no more! (The Deacon looks at them all 
quietly. Then he lifts his hands in sign of blessing, 
smiles and vanishes silently through street door. All 
remain stationary in their terror. Nothing happens. 
But at last Nell fearfully, still spellbound by the Dea- 
con's eloquence, lifts her eyes to the clock. Then 



THE DEACON'S HAT 187 

cautiously she turns a little toward the fire and the 
place of Deacon Roberts. 

Neli : Uch ! (She stands on her feet and cries 
out): The Deacon is gone! 

Hugh (Raising his eyes): Uch, what is it? 
Babylon — • 

Neli : Babylon nothing ! (She zvrings her hands.) 

Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife (Groaning) : Is he 
dead? Is he dead? 

Neli (With sudden plunge toward the door) : Uch, 
ye old hypocrite, ye villain! Uch, my butter an' my 
eggs, my butter an' my eggs! (Neli throws open the 
door and slams it to after her as she pursues the 
Deacon out into the bright midday sunshine.) 

Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife: Well, indeed, what 
is it? Has she been taken? 

Mrs. Jones the Wash (Getting up heavily) : Such 
movin' eloquence ! A saintly man is Deacon Roberts ! 

Tom Morris the Sheep: Aye, a saintly man is 
Deacon Roberts! 

Hugh (Picking up his book and speaking slowly): 
Aye, eloquence that knoweth the place of Hell even 
better than it knoweth Bala whatever! 

Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife (Very businesslike) : 
Aye, 'twas a treat — a rare treat! But where's my 
pins now? 

Mrs. Jones the Wash (Very businesslike) : Yiss, 
yiss, 'twas a grand an' fine treat. But I'm wantin' 
my soap now. 

Tom Morris the Sheep: Have ye any tobacco, 
Hughie lad? 

Curtain 



THE EXCHANGE 

A Comic-Farce 

By 

Althea Thurston 



Written as a requirement of English 109 — Playwriting 

and Dramatic Technique of the One- Act Play — ^under 

Professor B. Roland Lewis. Head of the English 

Department of The University of Utah 



ALTHEA THURSTON 

Althea Thurston (Mrs. Walter R. Thurston) is a 
resident of Salt Lake City, U^ah, and is a thoroughly 
western woman. She received her academic educa- 
tion in Colorado Springs, Colorado, and has spent 
several years in Texas and Arizona. She received 
her technical training in playwriting at the University 
of Utah, and has just completed at that institution a 
very thoroughgoing course in the development of the 
English drama covering a period from the earliest 
liturgical plays through contemporary drama. 

While Mrs. Thurston is interested in the creative 
aspect of both poetry and short stories, it is to the 
drama that she is giving her particular attention. 
The Exchange was first produced in October, 1919, 
by the Ogden Dramatic Club, who played it before 
the state convention of the Federation of Women's 
Clubs in Salt Lake City. It has since been frequently 
played by schools and clubs. Mrs. Thurston is also 
the author of When a Man's Hungry, And the Devil 
Laughs, — one-act plays, — The Trail Blazers, a pag- 
eant-drama, and A Pageant of Spring, which was 
presented on the campus of the University of Utah 
by the summer school students of public speaking and 
interpretative dancing in July, 1920. 

THE EXCHANGE 

Like the short story the short play would teach as 
well as entertain. And we can not feel that such a 

190 



THE EXCHANGE 191 

play as this preaches, hence its lesson is the greater. 
In the words of Professor B. Roland Lewis "The Ex- 
change deals with a very fundamental observation of 
life, and is presented in concrete form — two essen- 
tials for a good play." 



(Copyright, 1920. Permission to perform The Exchange 
must be obtained from tlie Extension Division of the Uni- 
versity of Utah, or from Althea Thurston, 1201 First Avenue, 
Salt Lake City, Utah.) 



THE EXCHANGE 



CAST OF CHARACTERS 

Judge, the Exchanger of Miseries. 
Imp, office boy to the Judge. 
A Poor Man. 
A Vain Woman. 
A Rich Citizen. 

Scene: The curtain rises upon an office scene. 
There is nothing unusual about this office: it has 
tables, chairs, a filing cabinet and a hat rack. A por- 
tion of the office is railed off at the right. Within this 
enclosed space is a commodious desk and swivel chair, 
and the filing cabinet stands against the wall. This 
railed off portion of the office belongs, exclusively, 
to the Judge. Here he is wont to spend many hours 
— sometimes to read or write — and again, perhaps, he 
will just sit and ponder upon the vagaries of mankind. 
The Judge is a tall spare man with rather long gray 
hair which shows beneath the skull cap that he always 
wears. When zv^e first see him, he is reading a letter, 
and evidently he is not pleased, for he is tapping with 
impatient fingers upon his desk. 

At the left of the stage is a heaznly curtained door 
which leads to an inner room. At center rear is an- 
other door which evidently leads to the street, as it 
is through this door that the Poor Man, the Vain 
Woman, and the Rich Citizen will presently enter, 

192 



THE EXCHANGE 193 

each upon his special quest. The hat rack stands 
near the street door and we glimpse a soft black hat 
and a long black overcoat hanging upon it. 

Down stage to the left, is a flat topped desk, littered 
with papers and letters. This desk has two large 
drawers wherein a number of miscellaneous articles 
might be kept. It is at this desk that zue catch our 
first glimpse of Imp. He is busily writing in a huge 
ledger and he seems to be enjoying his work for he 
chuckles the while. Imp is a little rogue — looks it 
and acts it, and zve feel that he has a Mephistophclian 
spirit. He wears a dark green tight- fitting uniform 
trimmed with red braid. His saucy little round cap 
is akvays cocked over one eye. He is ever chuckling 
impishly, and n^e feel that he is slyly gleeful over the 
weaknesses of mankind and the difficulties that beset 
them. 

Imp (Throws down his pen, chuckles, and half 
standing on the rungs of his chair and balancing him- 
self against his desk, surveys the ledger): Your 
Honor, I've all the miseries listed to date and a fine 
lot there is to choose from. Everything from bunions 
to old wives for exchange. 

Judge (Scozvls and impatiently taps the letter he is 
reading): Here is another one. A woman suspects 
her husband of a misallaince. Wants to catch him, 
but is so crippled with rheumatism she can't get 
about. Wants us to exchange her rheumatism for 
something that won't interfere with either her walking 
or her eyesight. 

Imp (Referring to the ledger and running his finger 



194 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT iPLAYS 

along the lines): We have a defective heart or a 
lazy Hver we could give her. 

Judge (Irritably tossing the letter over to Imp) : 
She would not be satisfied. People never are. They 
always want to change their miseries but never their 
vices. Each thinks his own cross heavier than others 
have to bear. But he is very willing to make light 
his own shortcomings and weaknesses. He thinks 
they are not half so bad as his neighbors'. I have 
tried for years to aid distressed humanity, but I can't 
satisfy them. I am growing tired of it all, Imp. 
People need a lesson and they're going to get it, too. 
I am going to — 

(Knock is heard at the street door. Judge sighs, 
turns to his desk and begins to write. Imp closes the 
ledger and goes to answer the knock.) 

Imp: Here comes another misery. 

(Imp opens the door to admit the Poor Man who 
is very shabbily dressed. He hesitates, looks around 
the room as if he were in the "wrong place and then 
addresses Imp in a loud whisper.) 

Poor Man (Indicating the Judge with a motion of 
his head): Is that him? 

Imp (Whispering loudly his reply): Yes, that is 
His Honor. 

Poor Man (Still whispering and showing signs of 
nervousness) : Do I dare speak to him? 

Imp (Enjoying the situation and still whispering) : 
Yes, but be careful what you say. 

Poor Man (Takes off his hat, approaches slozvly 
to the railing and speaks humbly) : Your Honor, I — 



THE EXCHANGE 195 

(Swallows hard, clears throat.) Your Honor, I've 
a little favor — to ask of you. 

Judge (Looking coldly at the Poor Man) : Well ? 

Poor Man : You see, Your Honor, I've been poor 
all my life. I've never had much fun. I don't ask 
for a lot of money, But — I v^ould like enough 
so that I could have some swell clothes, and — 
so that I could eat, drink and be merry v^ith the boys. 
You know, I just want to have a good time. Do you 
think you could fix it for me, Judge? 

Judge (Casing at him sternly for a moment): So 
you just want to have a good time. Want me to take 
away your poverty. I suppose you have no moral 
weakness you want to change, no defects in your 
character that you want to better? 

Poor Man (Stammering and twirling his hat): 
Why, w-h-y, Judge, I — I am not a bad man. Of — 
of course I have my faults, but then — I've never 
committed any crimes. I guess I stack up pretty fair 
as men go. I'm just awful tired of being poor and 
never having any fun. Couldn't you help me out on 
that point. Judge ? 

Judge (Sighs wearily and turns to Imp): Bring 
me the ledger. (Imp gives him the ledger in which 
he has been writing. Judge opens it and then speaks 
sharply to the Poor Man.) You understand do you, 
my good man, that if I take away your poverty and 
and give you enough money for your good time, you 
will have to accept another misery ? 

Poor Man (Eagerly): Yes, Your Honor, that's all 
right. I'm willing. 



196 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Judge (Scanning ledger): Very well. Let us see. 
Here is paralysis. 

Poor Man (Hesitatingly): Well, I — I couldn't 
have a — very good time, if — if I was paralyzed. 

Judge (Shortly): No. I suppose not. How about 
a glass eye? 

Poor Man (Anxiously) : Please, Your Honor, if 
I'm going to have a good time I need two good eyes. 
I don't want to miss anything. 

Judge (Wearily turning over the leaves of the led- 
ger): A man left his wife here for exchange, per- 
haps you would like her. 

Poor Man (Shifting from one foot to the other and 
nervously twirling his hat) : Oh, Judge, oh, no, please 
no. I don't want anybody's old cast-off wife. 

Judge (Becoming exasperated) : Well, choose some- 
thing and be quick about it. Here is lumbago, gout, 
fatness, old age, and — 

Imp (Interrupting and walking quickly over to the 
railing): Excuse me, Judge, but maybe the gentle- 
man would like the indigestion that Mr. Potter left 
when he took old Mrs. Pratt's fallen arches. 

Poor Man (Eagerly): Indigestion? Sure! That 
will be fine ! I won't mind a little thing like indiges- 
tion if I can get rid of my poverty. 

Judge (Sternly): Very well. Raise your right 
hand. Repeat after me. *T swear to accept indiges- 
tion for better or for worse as my portion of the 
world's miseries, so help me God." 

Poor Man (Solemnly): "I swear to accept indi- 
gestion for better or for worse as my portion of the 
world's miseries, so help me God." 



THE EXCHANGE 197 

Judge (To Imp): Show this gentleman to the 
changing room. (Poor Man follows Imp who con- 
ducts him to the heavily curtained door. The Poor 
Man throws out his chest and swaggers a bit as a 
man might who had suddenly come into a fortune. 
Imp swaggers along with him.) 

Imp: Won't you have a grand time though? I'll 
get you a menu card so that you can be picking out 
your dinner. 

Poor Man (Joyfully slapping Imp on the back): 
Good idea, and I'll pick out a regular banquet. 
(Pausing a moment before he pass'es through the 
curtains, he smiles and smacks his lips in anticipa- 
tion. Exit.) 

Judge (Speaks disgustedly to Imp): There you 
are! He's perfectly satisfied with his morals. Has 
no defects in his character. Just wants to have a 
good time. (Sighs heavily and turns back to his 
writing. Imp nods his head in agreement and 
chuckles slyly. 

(The street door opens slowly and the Vain Woman 
stands upon the threshold. She does not enter at 
once but stands posing, — presumably she desires to 
attract attention, and she is worthy of it. She has a 
superb figure and her rich gowning enhances it. Her 
fair face reveals a shallow prettiness, but the wrinkles 
of age are beginning to leave telltale lines upon its 
smoothness. As Imp hurries forward to usher her 
in, she sweeps grandly past him to the center of the 
stage. Imp stops near the door with his hands on 
his hips staring after her, then takes a fezv steps in 
imitation of her. She turns around slozdy and saun- 



198 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

tering over to the railing, coughs affectedly, and as 
the Judge rises and bows curtly, she speaks in a coax- 
ing manner.) 

Vain Woman : Judge, I have heard that you are 
very kind, and I have been told that you help people 
out of their troubles, so I have a little favor to ask 
of you. 

Judge (Coldly): Yes, I supposed so, go on. 

Vain Woman (Archly): Well, you know that I 
am a famous beauty, in fact both my face and my 
form are considered very lovely. (She tm-ns around 
slowly that he may see for himself.) Great and cele- 
brated men have worshiped at my feet. I simply can 
not live without admiration. It is my very life. But, 
Judge, (plaintizrely) horrid wrinkles are beginning to 
show in my face. (Intensely) : Oh, I would give 
anything, do anything, to have a smooth, youthful 
face once more. Please, oh, please. Judge, 
won't you take away these wrinkles (touching her 
face with her fingers) and give me something in 
their stead? 

Judge (Looking directly at her and speaking 
coldly): Are you satisfied with yourself in other 
ways? Is your character as beautiful as your face? 
Have you no faults or weaknesses that you want 
exchanged ? 

Vain Woman (Uncertainly) : Why, I — don't know 
what you mean. I am just as good as any other 
woman and lots better than some I know. I go to 
church, and I subscribe to the charities and I belong 
to the best clubs. (Anxiously): Oh, please. Judge, 
it's these wrinkles that make me so unhappy. Won't 



THE EXCHANGE 199 

you exchange them ; you don't want me to be unhappy 
do you? Please take them away. 

Judge (Wearily looking over the ledger): Oh, 
very well, I'll see what I can do for you. (To Imp): 
Fetch a chair for this lady. (Imp gives her a chair 
and she sits facing front. Imp returns to his desk, 
perches himself upon it and watches the Vain Woman 
interestedly. Judge turns over the leaves of the 
ledger.) I have a goiter that I could exchange for 
your wrinkles. 

Vain Woman (Frotestingly, clasping her hands to 
her throat) : Oh, heavens, no ! That would ruin my 
beautiful throat. See (throwing back her fur and 
exposing her neck in a low cut gown) I have a lovely 
neck. (Imp makes an exaggerated attempt to see.) 

Judge (Glances coldly at her and then scans ledger 
again): Well, how about hay fever? 

Vain Woman (Reproachfully) : Oh, Judge, how 
can you suggest such a thing ! Watery eyes and a red 
nose, the worst enemy of beauty there is. I simply 
couldn't think of it. I want something that won't 
show. 

Judge (Disgustedly turns to filing cabinet and looks 
through a series of cards, withdrazvs one and turns 
to Vain Woman) : Perhaps this will suit you. 
(Refers to card.) A woman has grown very tired of 
her husband and wants to exchange him for some 
other burden. 

Vain Woman (Indignantly) : What! I accept a 
man that some other woman doesn't want ! Cer- 
tainly not ! I prefer one that some other woman 
does want. 



200 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Judge (Irritated, puts the card back in its place and 
turns upon the Vain Woman crossly): I fear that I 
can not please you and I do not have time to — 

Imp (Interrupts and runs over to the railing, speak- 
ing soothingly to the Judge): Excuse me, Judge, but 
maybe the lady would like deafness in exchange for 
her wrinkles. Deafness wouldn't show, so it couldn't 
spoil her face or her elegant figure. 

Judge (Wearily): No, it won't show. Deafness 
ought to be a good thing for you. 

Vain Woman (Consideringly) : Why — yes, — that 
might do. But — well, it wouldn't show. Tve a 
notion to take it. (Pause, she seems to consider and 
meditate. The Judge stares at her coldly. Imp 
grins impudently. She rises leisurely, sighs.) All 
right. I'll accept it. 

Judge (Sharply): Hold up your right hand. (She 
raises hand.) Do you swear to accept deafness for 
better or for worse as your portion of the world's 
miseries, so help you God? 

Vain Woman (Sweetly): Oh, yes. I do. Judge. 

Judge (To Imp): Show the lady to the changing 
room. 

Imp (Escorts her to the curtained door zmth rather 
mock deference) : No, deafness won't show at all, 
and you'll have 'em all crazy about you. (Draws 
aside curtains for her to pass.) Take second booth 
to your right. (Vain Woman stands posing a mo- 
ment, she smiles radiantly and pats her cheeks softly 
with her hands, then zvith a long drawn sigh of happi- 
ness, she exits. Imp bozus low and mockingly after 
her vanishing form, his hands on his heart.) 



THE EXCHANGE 201 

Judge (Sarcastically): Do her faults or shortcom- 
ings trouble her? Not at all! Perfectly satisfied 
with herself except for a few wrinkles in her face. 
Vain woman, bah! 

Imp: Yes, sir, women have queer notions. (An 
imperative rap at the street door, immediately fol- 
lowed by the rapper's abrupt entrance. We see an 
important-appearing personage. His arrogant bear- 
ing and commanding pose lead tis to believe that he 
is accustomed to prompt attention. It is the Rich 
Citizen, exceedingly well groomed. His manner is 
lordly, but he addresses the Judge in a bored tone. 
When Imp scampers to meet him, the Rich Citizen 
hands him his hat and cane and turns at once to the 
Judge. Imp examines the hat and cane critically, 
hangs them on the hat rack, and returns to his desk 
where he again perches to watch the Rich Citi::en.) 
Rich Citizen (Lighting a cigarette): I am ad- 
dressing the Judge, am I not? 
Judge (Shortly): You are. 

Rich Citizen (Languidly, between puffs of his 
cigarette): Well, Judge, life has become rather bore- 
some, so I thought I would drop in and ask you to 
do me a small favor. 

Judge (Wearily): Yes? Well, what is your 
grievance ? 

Rich Citizen (Nonchalantly) : Oh, I wouldn't say 
grievance exactly. You see, my dear Judge, it is this 
way. I am a very rich and influential citizen, a 
prominent member of society, and I am very much 
sought after. 
Judge (Frigidly): Oh, indeed! 



202 A BOOK OF ONE^ACT PLAYS 

Rich Citizen (In a very bored manner): Yes. 
Women run after me day and night. Ambitious 
mothers throw their marriageable daughters at my 
head. Men seek my advice on all matters. I am 
compelled to head this and that committee. (Smokes 
languidly.) 

Judge (Sharply): Well, go on. 

Rich Citizen : Really, Judge, my prestige has 
become a burden. I want to get away from it all. I 
would like to become a plain ordinary man with an 
humble vocation, the humbler the better, so that people 
will cease bothering me. 

Judge (Sarcastically) : Is your prestige all that 
troubles you? Don't worry about your morals I sup- 
pose. Satisfied with your habits and character? 

Rich Citizen (Coldly): What have my habits or 
morals got to do with my request? (Scornfully): 
Certainly I am not one of your saintly men. I live 
as a man of my station should live, and I think I 
measure up very well with the best of them. I am 
simply bored and I would like a change. I would 
like to be a plain man with an humble calling. 

Judge (Ironically) : Til see what we have in 
humble callings. (He looks at the ledger, turning the 
leaves over slowly.) We have several bartender's 
vocations. 

Rich Citizen (Wearily smoking): No. Too 
many people about all the time, and too much noise. 

Judge : Well, here's a janitor's job open to you. 

Rich Citizen (Impatiently throwing away his 
cigarette): No. I don't like that either. Too con- 
fining. Too many people bickering at you all the 



THE EXCHANGE 203 

time. I want to get out in the open away from 
crowds. 

Judge (Sighing and turning over the leaves of the 
'ledger, then hopefully): Here's the very thing for 
you then,— postman in a rural district. 

Rich Citizen (Showing vexation): No, no, NO. 
Too many old women that want to gossip. I tell you 
I want to get away from women. Haven't you some- 
thing peaceful and quiet; something that would take 
me out in the quiet of the early morning when the 
birds are singing? 

Judge (Closing ledger with a hang and, rising): 
Well, you're too particular and I have not time to 
bother with you. I bid you good after— 

Imp (Slides from his desk, runs to railing, and 
speaks suavely): Excuse me, Judge, but maybe the 
gentleman would like the vocation of milkman. That 
is early morning work. And you remember a milk- 
man left his job here when he took that old worn-out 
senator's position. 

Judge (Sharply to Rich Citisen) : Well, how 
about it? Does a milkman's vocation suit you? It's 
early morning hours, fresh air, and no people about. 
Rich Citizen (Musingly): Well, the very sim- 
plicity and quietness of it is its charm. It rather 
appeals to me. (He ponders a moment): Yes, by 
Jove, I'll take it. 

Judge (Sternly): Hold up your right hand. 
(Hand is raised.) Do you solemnly swear to accept 
for better or for worse the vocation of milkman as 
your lot in life, so help you God? 
Rich Citizen: I do. 



204 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Judge (To Imp): Show this gentleman to the 
changing room. 

Imp (While escorting him to the curtained door): 
Yes, sir, you will lead the simple life. Fresh air, 
fresh milk, no people, just cows and they 
can't talk. (Holding aside the curtains.) Third 
booth, sir. 

Rich Citizen (Musingly): The simple life, — 
peace and quietness. (Exit.) 

Judge (In disgust): It's no use, Imp. They all 
cling to their vices, but they are very keen to change 
some little cross or condition that vexes them, — or 
that they think vexes them. 

Imp: It's funny that people always want some- 
thing different from what they have. (Imp opens a 
drawer in his desk and takes out a bottle, evidently 
filled with tablets, which he holds up, shaking it and 
chuckling. He hunts in the drawer again and this 
time brings forth a huge ear trumpet which he 
chucklingly places on his table beside the bottle of 
tablets.) 

Judge : Don't let any more in, Imp. I can't stand 
another one to-day. I am going to write a letter and 
then go home. 

Imp: All right, sir. 

Judge : I am feeling very tired ; what I really need 
is a vacation. A sea trip would put me right. By 
the way. Imp, where is that Trans-Atlantic Folder 
that I told you to get? 

(Imp picks up the Folder from his desk and takes 
it to the Judge who studies it attentively. Imp re- 
turns to his own desk where he again looks in a 



THE EXCHANGE 205 

drazver and brings forth a menu card zvhich he glances 
over, grinning mischievously. 

(The former Poor Man reenters from the changing 
room. He is well dressed, and taking a well filled 
wallet from his pocket, he looks at it gloatingly. 
However, from time to time, a shade of annoyance 
passes over his face, and he puts his hand to the pit 
of his stomach. Imp runs to meet him and hands 
him the menu that he has been reading.) 

Imp: Here's a menu from the Gargoyle. Say, 
you sure do look swell! (Looking him over admir- 
ingly.) 

Former Poor Man (Grinning happily): Some 
class to me now, eh! (Looking at menu): And you 
watch me pick out a real dinner. (Sits down at left 
front.) First, Fll have a cocktail; then, let's see, I'll 
have — another one. Next, oysters, and (he frowns 
and presses his hand to the pit of his stomach keeping 
up a massaging motion) green turtle soup, sand dabs, 
— chicken breasts — (they become absorbed over the 
menu. 

(The Vain Woman reenters from the changing 
room.. She now has a smooth face, and she is look- 
ing at herself in a hand glass, smiling and touching 
her face delightedly. She walks over to the railing 
and leans over it to the Judge. He looks up question- 
ingly.) 

Vain Woman (Smiling): Oh, I am so happy 
again. Am I not beautiful? 

Judge (Pityingly) : You are a vain, foolish woman. 

Vain Woman : (Since .^he is deaf, she does not 
hear his words, but thinks he is complimenting her. 



206 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

She smiles at him coyly.) Ah, Judge, you too are 
susceptible to my charms. 

(The Judge in great exasperation puts away his 
papers, thrusts the Trans- Atlantic Folder in his 
pocket, hastily closes his desk and hurries to the hut 
rack, puts on his overcoat, slips his skidl cap in his 
pocket and puts on his soft black hat. Then zvith a 
shrug of his shoulders and a wave of his hand indica- 
tive of disgust, he slips quietly out. 

(The Vain Woman saunters past the former Poor 
Man, stops near him posing, and begins to put on her 
gloves. He looks at her admiringly, then getting to 
his feet, makes an elaborate but awkward bow.) 

Former Poor Man : Excuse me, lady, but I've 
had a big piece of luck to-day and I want to celebrate, 
so I am having a big dinner. Won't you join me and 
help me have a good time? 

Vain Woman (Looking at him blankly and trying 
to fathom what he has said): Oh, why, what did 
you say? 

Former Poor Man (Hesitating and a bit sur- 
prised): Why, — er, — I said that I had a big piece 
of luck to-day and I am going to celebrate. I am 
having a fine dinner, and I just asked if — if — you 
wouldn't have dinner with me. 

Vain Woman (Still looking blank and a little con- 
fused, then smiling archly and acting as though she 
had been hearing compliments, she speaks affectedly) : 
Really, do you think so? (Looking down and smooth- 
ing her dress): But then every one tells me that I 
am. 



THE EXCHANGE 207 

Former Poor Man (Puzzled, turns to Imp for 
help): Just what is her trouble, Nut? 

Imp (Secretly gleeful): She is stone deaf. You 
had better write it. 

Former Poor Man : Never ! No deaf ones for 
me. (Turns away and considts menu again. Vain 
Woman poses and frequently looks in hand glass to 
reassure herself. 

(Former Rich Citizen reenters from the changing 
room. He is dressed in shabby overalls, jumper and 
an old hat. He has a pipe in his mouth. He zvalks 
arrogantly over to the former Poor Man and ad- 
dresses him.) 

Former Rich Citizen: Give me a light. 

Former Poor Man (Trying to live up to his fine 
clothes and wallet full of money, looks the former 
Rich Citizen over snubbingly) : Say, who do you 
think you are? You Hght out, see? 

Former Rich Citizen (Very much surprised, 
stands nonplussed a moment): Well, upon my word, 
I — I — (He stops short in his speech, walks haughtily 
over to the railing zvhere he stands glowering at the 
former Poor Man. The Former Poor Man starts 
for the street door, but Imp runs after him, waving 
the bottle of tablets.) 

Imp: I'll sell you these for two bits. 

Former Poor Man : What is that ? 

Imp (Grinning): Indigestion tablets. 

Former Poor Man (Puts his hand to his stomach 
and laughs a little lamely) : Keep 'em ; I don't need 
'em. (Exit.) 



208 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

(Vain Woman fastens her fur and starts for the 
street door, giving the Former Rich Citizen a snubbing 
look as she passes him. Imp stops her and offers 
the ear trumpet.) 

Imp : You might need this ; I'll sell it for a dollar. 

(She does not hear what he says but she looks her 
scorn at the ear trumpet and walks proudly out.) 

Former Rich Citizen (Fumbling at his pocket as 
if to find a watch): Boy, what time is it; I haven't 
my watch. 

Imp (Grinning mischievously) : Time to milk the 
cows. 

(The former Rich Citizen starts angrily toward 
Imp, then evidently thinking better of it, shrugs his 
shoulders and stalks majestically to the street door. 
He pauses with it partly open, turns as if to speak to 
Imp, drazving himself up haughtily — a ludicrous 
figure in his shabby outfit — then he goes abruptly out, 
slamming the door. Imp doubles himself up in a 
paroxysm of glee as the curtain falls.) 

Scene ii 

(A fortnight has passed. The curtain rises upon 
the same stage setting. The Judge is not about, but 
we see Imp asleep in a chair. All seems quiet and 
serene but suddenly the street door opens noisily and 
the Former Poor Man bursts into the room. He is 
panting as though he had been been running. He is 
haggard and seems in great pain, for occasionally he 
moans. He looks wildly about the room and seeing 
Imp asleep in the chair, he rushes to him and shakes 



THE EXCHANGE 209 

him roughly. Imp wakes, slowly yawning and 
rubbing his eyes.) 

Former Poor Man (Frantically): The Judge, 
where is he, I must see him at once. 

Imp (Yaivning): You're too early. He isn't 
down yet. (Settles himself to go to sleep again.) 

Former Poor Man (Walking the floor and holding 
his hands to his stomach): Don't go to sleep again. 
I'm nearly crazy. What time does the Judge get 
here ? Where does he live ; can't we send for him ? 

Imp (Indifferently): Oh, he is liable to come any 
minute, and then he may not come for an hour or 
two. 

Former Poor Man (Pacing the floor, moaning and 
rubbing his stomach): Oh, I can't stand it much 
longer. It's driving me wild I tell you. I do wish 
the Judge would come. 

Imp (Getting up from his chair and keeping step 
with the Poor Man): What's the matter; I thought 
all you wanted was to eat, drink and be merry. 

Former Poor Man (Frantically waving his arms): 
Eat, drink and be merry, be damned. Everything I 
eat gives me indigestion something awful ; everything 
I drink gives it to me worse. How can I be merry 
when I am in this torment all the time? I tell you 
this pain is driving me mad! I want to get rid of it 
quick. Oh, why doesn't the Judge come? 

Imp: What's the Judge got to do with it? 

Former Poor Man (Pathetically) : I am going to 
beg him to take back this indigestion and give me 
back my poverty. It was not so bad after all, not 
nearly so bad as this darned pain in my stomach. 



210 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

(The street door opens slowly and a sorrowful 
woman enters. She is weeping softly. It is the Vain 
Woman. Gone is her posing and her proud manner. 
She walks humbly to the railing, and not seeing the 
Judge, she turns to Imp. The Former Poor Man 
looks at the Vain Woman frowningly muttering 
"What's she here for?" Then he sits dozvn at the 
left and rocks back and forth in misery.) 

Vain Woman (Tearfully) : I must see the Judge 
right away, please. 

Imp (Languidly): He isn't down yet. You're 
too earl — 

Vain Woman (Interrupting): Tell him that it is 
very important, that I am in great distress and that 
he must see me at once. 

Imp (Loudly): I said that he was not down yet. 
(Seeing that she does not understand, he takes a 
writing pad from his desk, scribbles a few words, 
and standing in front of her holds it up for her to 
read.) 

Vain Woman (After reading): Oh, when will he 
be here? Can't you get him to come right away? 
Oh, I am so unhappy. (She zvalks the Hoor in agita- 
tion. The Former Poor Man grunts in irritation and 
turns his back on her.) I can not hear a word that 
is said to me. No one seems to want me around, 
and I am not invited out any more. I have the feel- 
ing that people are making fun of me instead of prais- 
ing my beauty. Oh, it is dreadful to be deaf! 
(Getting hysterical.) I want the Judge to take away 
this deafness. I would rather have my wrinkles. 
(Imp shakes his head in pretended sympathy saying. 



THE EXCHANGE 211 

"Too had, too bad/' She misunderstands and cries 
out): Has the Judge given away my wrinkles? I 
want them back; I want my very own wrinkles, too. 
Wrinkles are distinguished-looking. (Beginning to 
sob.) I don't want to be deaf any longer. 

Imp (Running over to the Former Poor Man): 
Say, this lady feels very bad ; can't you cheer her up a 
little? 

Former Poor Man (Who is still rocking back and 
forth zvith his own misery, looks up at Imp in dis- 
gust): Cheer— her— up, me? What's the joke? 

(The Vain Woman walks to the curtained door, 
looks in as if seeking something, then returns to a 
chair where she sits weeping softly. 

(A peculiar thumping is heard at the street door. 
The Former Poor Man jumps to his feet in expect- 
ancy, hoping it is the Judge. Imp, also, stands wait- 
ing. The door opens as though the person that 
opened it did so with difficulty. The Former Rich 
Citizen hobbles in. He is ragged and dirty and one 
foot is bandaged, which causes him to use a crutch. 
He carries a large milk can. He hobbles painfully 
to the center of the stage. The Former Poor Man 
grunts with disappointment and sits down again 
rubbing away at his stomach. The Vain Woman sits 
zvith bowed head silently weeping. The Former Rich 
Citizen looks about; then addresses Imp in rather a 
husky voice.) 

Former Rich Citizen: I wish to see the Judge 
at once. It is most urgent. 

Imp (With an ill concealed smile): You can't see 
the Judge at once. 



212 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

Former Rich Citizen (Impatiently) : Why not, 
I told you it was most urgent. 

Imp (Grinning openly): Because he isn't here. 
He hasn't come in yet. What's your trouble? 

Former Rich Citizen (Vehemently): Trouble! 
Everything's the trouble! I have been abused, in- 
sulted, overworked, — even the cows have kicked me. 
(Looking down at his bandaged foot.) I can't stand 
it. I want back my proper place in the world where 
I am respected, and where I can rest and sleep, and 
mingle with my kind. (He hobbles to a chair and 
sits down wearily.) 

Former Poor Man (Getting up from his chair, 
walks over to the former Rich Citizen, waggles his 
finger in his face and speaks fretfully): What cause 
have you to squeal so? If you had indigestion like 
I have all the time, you might be entitled to raise a 
holler. Why, I can't eat a thing without having the 
most awful pain right here, (puts his hand to the pit 
of his stomach) and when I take a drink, oh, heavens, 
it— 

Former Rich Citizen (Interrupting contemptu- 
ously): You big baby, howling about the stomach 
ache. If you had a man-sized trouble, there might be 
some excuse for you. Now I, who have been used 
to wealth and respect, have been subjected to the 
most grueling ordeals; why in that dairy there were 
a million cows and they kicked me, and horned me, 
and I — 

Vain Woman: (Walks over to them, interrupt- 
ing their talk, and speaks in a voice punctuated with 



THE EXCHANGE 213 

sniMing sobs.) Have — (sniff) either of you gentle- 
men (sniff) ever been deaf ; (sniff, sniff) it is a ter- 
rible thing (sniff) for a beautiful woman like I am 
(sniff) to have such an affliction. (Sniff, sniff, sniff.) 

(Former Rich Citizen shrugs his shoulders in- 
differently and limps to the other side of the stage 
where he sits.) 

Former Poor Man : (Stalks over to the railing 
where he leans limply.) Lord deliver me from a 
sniffling woman. 

(Imp who is perched on his desk, chuckles wickedly 
at their sufferings. Vain Woman sinks dejectedly 
into the chair vacated by the Former Rich Citizen. 

(A knock is heard at the street door. The Former 
Poor Man and the Former Rich Citizen start up 
eagerly, expecting the Judge. Even the Vain Woman, 
seeing the others rise, gets to her feet hopefully. 
Imp hastily slides from his desk, and pulling dozvn 
his tight little jacket and cocking his round little hat 
a trifle more over one eye, goes jauntily to see who 
knocks. A messenger hands him a letter and silently 
departs.) 

Imp (Importantly): Letter for me from the 
Judge. 

Former Poor Man: A letter! Why doesn't he 
come himself? 

Former Rich Citizen : Send for him, boy. 

Imp (Grins insolently at the Former Rich Citizen): 
Well, well, I wonder what the Judge is writing to 
me about. It's queer that he would send me a letter. 
(He looks the letter over carefully, both sides, holds 



214 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

it up to the light, shakes it, smells it. The two men 
and the woman grow more and more nervous.) 

Former Poor Man (Extremely irritated): For 
God's sake, open it and read it. 

Former Rich Citizen: Yes, yes, don't be so long 
about it. 

(Vain Woman simply stands pathetically and waits. 
Imp walks over to his desk, hunts around for a paper- 
knife, finally finds one; looks the letter over again 
and at last slits the envelope and drazvs out the letter 
which he reads silently, not letting the others see. 
They are breathlessly zmiting. Imp whistles softly 
in surprise.) 

Imp: Well, what do you think of that! 

Former Poor Man (Excitedly): What is it, why 
don't you tell us? 

Former Rich Citizen (Pounding with his crutch 
on the floor): Come, come, don't keep me waiting 
like this. 

Imp (Reads letter again, silently, chuckling) : All 
right. Here it is. (Reads): "My dear Imp. I have 
tried faithfully for years to aid distressed humanity, 
but they are an ungrateful lot of fools and I wash 
my hands of them. When this letter reaches you, 
I will be on the high seas and I am never coming back. 
So, write finis in the -big old ledger of miseries and 
shut up the shop for the Exchange is closed forever. 
Yours in disgust. The Judge." 

(They all stand da;::ed a moment. The Vain 
Woman, sensing that something terrible has happened, 
rushes from one to the other saying, "What is it, 



THE EXCHANGE 215 

what has happened^* Imp gives her the letter to 
read.) 

Former Poor Man (In a perfect frenzy): My 
God ! Indigestion all the rest of my days ! 

Vain Woman (After reading letter collapses in a 
chair, hysterically sobbing out): Deaf, always deaf, 
oh, what shall I do! 

Former Rich Citizen (Leaning heavily on his 
crutch and shaking his free hand clenched in anger): 
This is an outrage. I am rich and have influence and 
I shall take steps to — to — 

(Imp laughs mockingly. The man looks down at 
his milk spattered clothes, his bandaged foot, and 
letting his crutch fall to the floor, sinks dejectedly into 
a chair burying his face in his hands. 

(Imp dangles his keys and opens the street door as 
an invitation for them to go. The Former Poor Man 
is the first to start, moving dazedly and breathing 
hard. Imp offers him the bottle of indigestion tab- 
lets; the man grasps them eagerly, tipping Imp, who 
chuckles as he pockets the money. The Poor Man 
takes a tablet as he exits. The Vain Woman, bowed 
with sorrow, moves slowly toward the door. Imp 
touches her arm and offers the ear trumpet ; she ac- 
cepts it with a wild sob, tipping Imp who again 
chuckles as he pockets the money. The last we see 
of the Vain Woman she is trying to hold the ear 
trumpet to her ear and exits sobbing. The Former 
Rich Citizen still sits in his chair his head in his 
hands. Imp picks up the milk can, and tapping the 
man not too gently on the shoulder, thrusts the milk 



216 A BOOK OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 

can at him and makes a significant gesture, indicative 
of— THIS WAY OUT. The man rises dejectedly, 
picks up his crutch, takes the milk can and hobbles 
painfully toward the door. Imp doubles himself up 
in wild Mephistophelian glee as the 

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